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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29742102">The Menace Rising</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/callmescrappy/pseuds/callmescrappy'>callmescrappy</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dragon Age: Origins</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>City Elf (Dragon Age) Origin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 21:29:08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>64,688</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29742102</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/callmescrappy/pseuds/callmescrappy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Part one of my canon Tabris playthrough, up to Ostagar.<br/>Various minor liberties were taken with characters and timelines to help smooth this adaption. I originally wrote it for my mum, who doesn't play video games, but loves fantasy, so she could experience just one of the many stories this game has to offer.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Prologue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The wind stirred the upper canopies of the trees as the last dying rays of sunlight glinted through the naked branches. It was late autumn and the trees were mostly bare. Only the evergreens retained their foliage, standing like dark green flames among the grey branches that predominated the forest. A few withered leaves clung to their perches in stubborn refusal to yield to the change of season. On the ground, their forsaken fellows stirred as the hooves of horses stepped through them.</p><p>      Four horses, and atop, four riders. The first was a tall thick-chested man, riding like a pillar upon his great black destrier. His hair was as black as his mount’s, tied in a short tail at the nape of his neck, with a close-trimmed beard and an arched nose set in high, sun-weathered cheekbones. His posture was relaxed, but his eyes were alert, scanning the road ahead with an air of duty of which self-importance played no part. The brown leather of his gloves and boots were well worn, and his chainmail shirt showed the deep blue of the tunic underneath. A griffon embroidered on the grey and blue surcoat marked him out as a Grey Warden—at least to those who would still remember the once-venerated order.</p><p>      The rider held the reins in his left hand, setting a steady pace, but he did not rush. His right hand reached across his body, gripping the pommel of a great sword. He had good reason to be wary. Though the wind moved above, the air at the ground was unnaturally still. Accentuating it further was the fact that it was devoid of any of the normal wildlife chatter that usually persisted even in late autumn. The snows had not yet fallen, and creatures ought to be about making their final preparations for the coming winter. But the man had not heard squirrel, nor owl, nor even distant howl of wolf for days.</p><p>      His companions—two men and a woman—were similarly attired, being Grey Wardens also, though one of the men was considerably younger than the rest. The youth was a recent recruit, barely weeks past his Joining, and his lack of experience showed through his demeanor. The other two companions rode with a dutiful vigilance—they had noticed the unsettling stillness as well—each watching one side of the road. The new recruit rode casually, his attentions unfocused, torn between the forest around them and the questions he was asking his senior companions.</p><p>      “Is it true what the Chantry says about the darkspawn?”</p><p>      “What part?” the woman said without turning her gaze away from the forest. Cora Waymar had been with the Wardens for three years, long enough to know her business well, but not so long that she had no sympathy for the curiosity of new recruits.</p><p>      “The part where they says the darkspawn are really Tevinter mages, who tried to usurp Heaven and the Maker made them into corruptions for doing it?”</p><p>      “True enough,” Waymar replied without taking her eyes away from the surroundings. “Why they came to be is less important now than destroying them.”</p><p>      “How would the devils get all the way out here anyway? I don’t doubt your word, Sers, but Orzammar is hundreds of miles from here. If it's darkspawn we’re looking for, shouldn’t that be the place to start?”</p><p>      “The Deep Roads are true to their name,” their leader said in a low voice. “The Dwarven Kingdoms once extended below ground across all of Thedas. Their thaigs have fallen but the passages they built still exist, only they are ruled by the darkspawn now. The creatures come above ground occasionally; they have built tunnels of their own over the centuries so you can never know where they will show themselves. You are still new to the taint, young Brynn, and so your senses are not as attuned to their whereabouts. But I can assure you, they are here.”</p><p>      “As you say, Ser Duncan,” the young warden said, though evidently unconvinced.</p><p>      Duncan was the commander of the Grey Warden regiment in Ferelden. The Wardens were spread thin across Thedas; these days few volunteered to enlist and fewer still survived the Joining. Derick Brynn had been a smith’s apprentice who had had no affinity for smithing. His master had sold his bond to Duncan, citing that he could teach the lad to wield hammer and anvil, but he could not teach him to love the craft. Without the latter, he said, his apprentice’s work was forever stunted.</p><p>      But to Duncan, the lad had shown some promise, being competent with a sword and reasonably well-witted. He hoped that the current scouting expedition would season him into a warrior.</p><p>      But that was not his main concern now.</p><p>      Duncan had lived with the taint for almost thirty years. He sensed darkspawn the way another man could sense his little toe. He could not see them, but he knew they were there.</p><p>      For days he had felt a tug which brought him here to the south-western reaches of Ferelden, where the marshes gave way to the foothills of the Frostback Mountains. He was well accustomed to the draw of darkspawn...the prickly sensation at his neck, the void which filled his heart the closer they drew. This time it was different. Not stronger, but more persistent. He suspected the darkspawn they were tracking had been above ground for some time.</p><p>      “There is a village up ahead,” Waymar said. “We ought to be able to reach it by nightfall.”</p><p>      Duncan nodded. “We’ll ask in the taverns if they’ve had any darkspawn activity. Country folk will have noticed how quiet the forest has been, they’ll likely have plenty to say.”</p><p>      “I’m just looking forward to a real bed for one night,” Derrick said, stifling a yawn. “All this sleeping on the ground has me aching.”</p><p>      “I wasn’t aware that blacksmiths were so delicate,” the fourth rider sniped. He was a quiet brooding man by the name of Galad Copeland, who had lived with the taint almost as long as Duncan.</p><p>      “It’s not being delicate to enjoy a bit of comfort now and then,” the young warden said sheepishly.</p><p>      “Quiet,” Duncan said. “Smoke ahead.”</p><p>      Sure enough, distant plumes could be seen above the canopy, black, grey and foreboding.</p><p>      “Late for Satinalia festivals,” Waymar said uneasily.</p><p>      “A trap?” Copeland suggested, pulling an arrow from his quiver and nocking it.</p><p>      “Possibly,” Duncan said. “But perhaps not. We should ride quickly. There may be survivors.”</p><p>      The riders urged their horses to a brisk trot, weapons at the ready. The forest thinned, giving way to hedges surrounding a small farmhouse. The paddocks and coops were left vacant; fence boards were broken from the inside, telling of panicked animals escaping their confinement. The doors of the farmhouse hung open like gaping mouths of silent terror. No sounds stirred.</p><p>      Waymar dismounted and steeled into the house silently, emerging mere moments later.</p><p>      “Left in a hurry, they had just settled down for dinner—yesterday by the looks of it. No blood. Perhaps the animals gave them early warning enough.”</p><p>      They found the next house burnt to ashen ruin. The unmistakable smell of charred flesh wafted through the hole the roof had left when the thatch caved in. They rode on with haste, not bothering to search the dwelling.  When they reached the village proper the desolation turned to horror.</p><p>      The village was small, the largest building had been the two story inn at the head of the central square. The rest of the buildings had been modest one story dwellings and small businesses. Where fire had not left the structures to blackened hulls, the walls were smeared with blood. The severed limbs which had been used to paint hideous symbols on every surface lay strewn about the ground. A glint of blue caught Duncan’s eye and he looked closer to see that one arm still wore a beaded bracelet around the wrist. The horses’ nostrils flared as they snorted nervously, but they carried on stoutly at the command of their riders.</p><p>      When it was apparent that no surprise attack was imminent, the warriors dismounted to investigate further on foot. They stepped silently through the carnage, weapons drawn and nocked. Flies buzzed around mounds of half-devoured flesh, piled up like discarded husks. Bloodied drag marks told of people snatched from their hiding places. Some had tried to fight back, as evidenced by the sickles, axes, and rough hewn arrows which littered the ground. A few had even been successful, judging by the grotesque bodies of a dozen darkspawn piled among the human remains. Darkspawn had little regard for their fallen brethren, and would treat them the same…as meat to be played with. But despite the villagers’ resistance, the darkspawn had overwhelmed everything.</p><p>      Bodies freed of arms, legs, heads, and skin were skewered on pikes at every corner. In front of the inn, a man lay dead, his bloodied fingers clawing to get away from whatever abomination had pursued him. His legs were ripped from his body, spilling his entrails out behind him.</p><p>      Brynn made a valiant attempt not to vomit, but the smell of dead flesh is one that sticks in the throat and stings the eyes. Even Duncan, who in his thirty years with the taint had seen his fair share of battles, was not immune to the primal nausea; he was just better at overcoming it. He did not hold it against the young recruit when he doubled over and wretched.</p><p>      “Search for survivors,” Duncan said when Brynn had recovered himself. Truthfully, he had no hope of finding any, and his seasoned companions likely knew that. Any lucky few that had survived the onslaught would not have stayed. But searching for hope eased the onset of despair, which pressed in on the small party along with the smell of death. “Any that cannot be saved...release them from their torment.”</p><p>      They searched thoroughly but none were left alive, nor did they encounter any darkspawn. But that did not ease the void filling Duncan’s chest. No, the hoard had not gone far, he thought with absolute certainty. </p><p>      The village was nestled below a hill to the west, from which one would be able to oversee the valley. When they concluded their search of the village, Duncan ordered the party to gather their mounts and they climbed the hill to see what they could from the higher vantage.</p><p>      The rock was sheared down at the top, leaving a cliff edge at the summit. The entire valley was filled with the smoke from dozens of fires. The path that the darkspawn had taken into the village was evident from their trail of destruction…but where had they gone after…?</p><p>      “Duncan, the horizon…” Copeland said. The commander had been so preoccupied searching for the immediate threat that he had not noticed the red glow. It extended like a ribbon low across the sky beyond the mountains, different both in form and feel from the display of colors one would expect from a normal sunset. The red was that of bloodlust and rage.</p><p>      The tingling at the back of Duncan’s neck became a sudden tug.</p><p>      The same moment, the horses screamed.</p><p>      The darkspawn had been waiting to attack until they were trapped against the cliff’s edge. His sword was already in-hand, Duncan saw that they were outnumbered. He quickly counted ten to the Grey Wardens’ four, but there were not enough here to account for the destruction of the village. The other wardens reacted just as swiftly, automatically taking up defensive positions. Duncan stepped forward swiftly as the head of their formation; he didn’t need to look to know that Waymar was at his right and Brynn just behind her. Copeland stood at the back, releasing arrow after arrow, downing several of the creatures as they charged towards the party, but there were too many to stop them all before the other three engaged. The ringing of swords sounded through the valley as their blades met with the darkspawns’. </p><p>      Duncan blocked the swing of an axe and brought his sword down to slash one of the creatures through the gut. The darkspawn he struck down had barely hit the ground before Duncan had locked with the next. Waymar was fending off two attackers with her dual wielded blades, Brynn held his ground against a mace-wielding abomination, while Copeland continued to provide backline support with his bow.</p><p>      Suddenly, the ground erupted under foot and Duncan lost sight of his companions. Battle magic—the darkspawn were wielding magic, he realized quickly. He didn’t have time to ponder that new revelation as he fought to regain his bearings. Still disoriented, he suddenly found a darkspawn directly under him. Or over him—up and down was indistinguishable in that moment. But the monster was close, rotting bloody teeth only inches from his face. He groped for his sword which had been knocked out of his grip when the ground exploded, while struggling with his other hand to keep the gnashing creature at bay. His fist suddenly closed around the hilt of his blade and in the same instant the spinning in his head cleared enough to realize he had the advantage over  his opponent. He wasted no time in bringing the sword down through the darkspawn’s throat. It lurched and spurted black blood as he pulled his sword back, angling the blade so that it cut the widest gash possible. The darkspawn continued to gurgle out the hole in its throat, claws slashing at the air above it. Duncan leaned out of the creature’s reach and regained his footing swiftly on the disturbed ground. He planted a heavy boot on the monster and heaved, sending it over the newly sheared cliff edge. In the same motion he brought his weapon to guard against the next enemy that lurched toward him.</p><p>      But no attack came, and Duncan had a moment to take in the scene in front of him. A crater existed where the Grey Wardens had originally arrayed themselves. Erupted earth was scattered around the clearing at the cliff’s edge, which was several meters closer than it had been before. Several mangled darkspawn were strewn about the area, still alive, but posing little threat now that their bodies had been blown apart. It was clear that the explosion of ground had impacted both of the darkspawn and humans without discrimination. Darkspawn didn’t care about sacrificing their own. </p><p>      Duncan could not see Copeland or Brynn, but his eyes were quickly drawn to Waymar on the other side of the crater. She was struggling to regain her feet as she grappled with a darkspawn. She had lost one of her swords, and her arm that held the other was caught in the creatures grasp. Duncan began to cross the divide, but he already knew there was too much debris. He would never reach her. Her captured arm abruptly twisted the wrong way and her last weapon dropped from her grasp. Her neck was only inches from the darkspawn’s gaping teeth. </p><p>      Brynn’s shout suddenly reverberated across the valley as he launched himself towards the entangled pair. His legs, injured in the explosion, were barely able to carry him forward as he slashed at the creature. It lurched, off balance as Brynn struck, and its mouth ripped away from Waymar, taking her neck with it. But the darkspawn was heavily armored and it whipped around, shrieking with rage. Brynn, had not considered the creature’s armor and was taken by surprise as it grabbed at him from behind.</p><p>      Out of the corner of his eye Duncan saw Copeland, having recovered his footing on the cliff side of the crater, bring his bow up to aim.</p><p>      His arrow struck the darkspawn through the eye. In the same instant the creature’s blade erupted from Brynn’s mouth. A long second passed and the two bodies crumpled. Snarls echoed down the hill as the remaining darkspawn retreated into the trees. Duncan held out a hand, silently giving the order to Copeland not to give chase.</p><p>      He walked towards the other man, stepping around the clumps of rock and earth, keeping a careful eye alert for a second attack. But he could already feel them fading away in the taint. Yet the void in his chest that he had felt for days was as strong as ever. He grasped Copeland on the shoulder, his face grim, silently acknowledging the loss of their comrades. But there was no time to mourn now.</p><p>      The two Wardens turned back towards the horizon where the red glow lingered. The wardens both felt the taint surge within them as they looked on, responding to the call of destruction emanating from where the red corrupted the sky beyond the mountains. Such a call could only mean one thing.</p><p>      “Maker’s breath…it’s a Blight,” Copeland breathed.</p><p>      Duncan nodded. “I daresay we may need reinforcements,” he said gravely. “We do not have the strength to take on a Blight alone. We must increase recruitment, call in our allies. We will need every capable person we can gather for this fight…”</p><p>      “We may already be too late,” Copeland intoned.</p><p>      Duncan clenched his jaw. “Maker help us all.”</p><p>      Somewhere in the distance, a dragon roared.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The Wedding Party</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>
  <span>I had lived eighteen years in Denerim city, my entire life, and I still hadn’t gotten used to the smell. That stink of rot mixed with a tinge of salt from the distant harbor. The air was ripe with it that day, softened by the clement weather.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      After a hard winter it felt like a blessing. The mounds of snow still endured in the nooks and corners where the shadows persisted, but where the light hit, the ice was forced to release the mud it had held at bay for months, turning the hard-packed streets into a quagmire. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I did my best to step around the worst of the mud, but by the time I reached the bridge which crossed the river into the alienage, my boots were heavy and the hems of my skirts were soiled. I took advantage of the stone cobbles on the bridge and stopped along the edge to scrape what I could off my soles. I had worn the extra layer I had grown accustomed to over the winter, but in the mild weather I had worked up a sweat during my walk. I reached up to untie the scarf around my neck to let the cool air wick the moisture away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      It was near sunset. The light slanted low through the parapets and chimneys of the city and reflected brilliantly off the languid currents of the river. The sounds of the city bounced off the water too; dogs barking endlessly, people calling out to one another, sea birds screeching high in the air, and buckets of refuse splashing onto the streets as they were tossed out windows. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I leaned against the low stone wall of the bridge, rubbing my reddened hands together; they were wrinkled and chafed from being submersed in hot water all day as I kneaded and rinsed endless piles of laundry in the wash house. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      From my vantage out on the bridge, I could see Fort Drakon—the oldest structure in the city, home to the guards’ garrison—looming over the city, high on its hill. I could not see the ocean port from where I stood but I knew it lay on the other side of the fort. Even from this distance I could see how much finer the buildings surrounding the fort up on the hill were. That was where the nobles maintained their extravagant estates. Further down the hill was the merchant quarter, characterized by smaller, but no less luxurious properties. They gave way to the market district, the beating heart of the city, to which all streets converged. From there, each block became more dilapidated, until eventually the streets came to the entrance of the elven alienage, where I stood.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I had lived most of my life within a stone’s throw from the alienage. Humans would say it was best to keep our races from mixing, and that was why we elves chose to live in the alienage.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      That’s what the humans would say. We chose to live there. Yet if ever anyone tried to make a life outside the alienage—and ever year, one or two did try—they encountered…difficulties.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Ill-wishes left on doorsteps. Rocks thrown through the windows. Warnings written in sheep’s blood upon the threshold.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I had real memories of each of those things from my childhood, when my father tried to open a cobbler shop closer to the market district. My parents tried to shield me from their struggles, but even as a small child, I knew…even before the day when a group of boys chased me down an alleyway and began to throw stones, yelling, “Knife-ears go back to the alienage!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I came home that evening covered in cuts and bruises. I had tried to hide them from my parents, but I couldn’t help the tears that welled in my eyes, more from the humiliation than the pain. The next day, my father closed his shop. I had felt responsible for it. If only I was taller, I had thought to myself, I could have beaten my tormentors away. My mama had listened to me, nodding patiently as I raged and cried at the injustice of it all. And then she had gathered me into her arms and called me </span>
  <em>
    <span>da’len</span>
  </em>
  <span>, little one, and said that I was right…it was not fair, but that all would be set right in the end, I needed only to be patient and to trust.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Trust in what, I did not know. Mama did not keep the faith of the Chantry, as most everyone else in the city did. She was Dalish, born to the elves who lived as free folk in the forests far to the east. She had left her family some two decades ago desiring to see more of the world and made her way to Denerim with a thought of perhaps traveling across the Waking Sea to the Free Marches. But she had met my father and produced me not long after. Her priorities suddenly shifted and she found herself trying to make a living for her new family. She always insisted to me, when I was old enough to inquire, that she had never felt trapped in Denerim, that my father and I were the best thing that ever happened to her. Nevertheless, I saw the far off look in her eyes when she would tell me stories of her once-home.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      She often spoke of the pantheon of gods who sometimes guided the pure-hearted and played tricks on the ignorant. But the only forest I knew was made of plaster and stone, the forest of a cityscape. Hearing my mother talk about the vast woods where she grew up felt like a fantasy. A world without walls, far from humans…it was hard to conjure to mind. And yet, being told of it again and again, though I not so much as breathed its air, my heart called that place my home. I would ask her if we could go back there. “One day, </span>
  <em>
    <span>da’len</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” she would say, tucking a lock of hair behind my ear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      But she had died before that day had ever come. It had been seven years since we buried her. It was an old pain, one I had grown to live with, the way a tree will eventually grow into a wire fence. But occasionally the scar still snagged on a stray thought and the wound would sting with half-healed sorrow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      We were free in Denerim, but it did not always feel that way. The alienage was small and cramped, and yet it was still a sanctuary of sorts—at least humans rarely ventured inside its high walls. There were many in the alienage who were born and lived and died, having never left. I felt simultaneously trapped by the walls and protected at the same time. The alienage had been built and rebuilt countless times over the generations. When one block burned, it wouldn’t take long to be built upon its foundations. And the alienage burned often. Humans owned the land it was built on and sometimes, when they remembered that fact, they would come demanding rent. When they found there was no money to be had, half of them would be deterred for another few months…others would destroy the illegal homes without care for the families that lived there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      And sometimes, every few years, tensions among the elves would boil over. Famine and disease were common, and it always came to pass that a few impassioned individuals would move others to actions. But with nowhere to turn their fury, it was our own community that burned. And the humans would come to finish the job, purging the insurrection before it could spill over into the rest of the city. The shemlen rarely made the distinction between trouble-makers and the ones who merely got in their way. Mama had been among the latter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      The sunlight was turning orange as it sank lower on the horizon and I realized I had been standing on the bridge for some time. It was time to go. I pushed off the banister and continued walking across the bridge. As I neared the gate into the alienage I saw a familiar figure running towards me, waving enthusiastically.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Sarabi!” It was my friend Shianni, grinning widely, as she ran up and clutched my hands between both of hers in excitement.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “They’re here! The wedding party from Highever!” She beamed, practically bouncing with exhilaration, and she towed me onward, back in the direction she had come. I followed her willingly, feeling my own excitement bubbling up in response to hers, despite my fatigue from a long day.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Does Soris know?” I asked breathlessly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I haven’t seen him, but I’m sure he was the first one to find out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Have you seen her yet?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      She shook her head in disappointment. “I didn’t get a good look at anyone, I just saw they had arrived and I went to find you.” She lowered her voice to whisper conspiratorially.  “Do you think she’ll be pretty?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I laughed. “I almost hope she’s a hag. Soris has been so irritating lately. Just because the elders picked him out a wife doesn’t mean he isn’t the same slack-jawed whelp we’ve grown up with.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “For shame, Sarabi! Can you blame him for being excited?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Excitement and haughtiness are different. He’s been walking around like he’s marrying Queen Anora herself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “And you’ve been just as bad! Rolling your eyes anytime he mentions it—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Which is every second,” I interjected. Shianni glared at me and kept speaking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “—once he’s married he’ll be able to weigh in on Council decisions. Isn’t that something worth celebrating? Imagine actually being able to influence the community—make things better!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I scoffed. “I’m sure Soris will certainly provide a wealth of wisdom to the elders. You’re as idealistic as always, cousin,” I said, tussling hair affectionately. “As for me, as soon as I have enough coin to my name I’m leaving this place and never coming back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      That stopped Shianni in her tracks. “You’re not still on that are you, cousin? I thought you had moved on from ideas like that after...” she caught herself before finishing the thought.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I looked forward, my face blank. “No, I just stopped talking about it. Any time I would talk about leaving Denerim, Valendrian and Da both would both look at me like I had pissed on the vhenadahl.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Well can you really be surprised by Valendrian? You know how he is, him and all the elders. And as for your da, you were all he had left. Surely you can forgive him for not wanting to lose you too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “He was the only reason I stayed as long as long as I have.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I thought about my late father with the usual numbness that accompanied his memory to me. The grief I felt for him was very different from that which I felt for my mother. Fever had taken him only three months ago, and I could not even recall the last words he said to me. The pain was fresher, but hollowed by the resentment I still felt towards him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>want</span>
  </em>
  <span> to resent my father; he had always been a quiet man, focused on his work and providing for his family. But he had never been the same after Mama had died. For days after she was killed he barely spoke or so much as looked at me, and the intervening years did nothing to lift his stupor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I realized I was thoughtfully rubbing my fingers along my cheekbone, feeling the slightly raised ridges there. My mother called them </span>
  <em>
    <span>vallaslin</span>
  </em>
  <span>—blood writing. Face tattoos the Dalish are endowed with as a rite of passage. Her’s had been in a pattern that called to mind a tree, with the spindly branched fanning out over her brow and along her cheekbones, a line running straight down over her nose and lips, which served as the trunk, and finally ending in a tangle of roots on her chin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I was not blind to the difficulties my mother had faced, being so thoroughly marked as an outsider, even among the elves. In truth, it was in the alienage itself that she drew the most derision. Suspicion and contempt seemed to follow her everywhere. No one would say anything about her in front of me, of course, but whispers had a way of making themselves heard eventually. It was hard enough for the elves to gain acceptance among human society and anyone that flaunted their foreignness made it more difficult for everyone. The fact that she was married to my da softened their perception of her. But that she refused to formally renounce the elven pantheon was an affront which all but canceled that goodwill out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      As for the humans, most would avert their eyes quickly when they passed her on the street, some would stare openly, and a few were blatantly hostile. Yet for any other city elf, the humans’ gazes would slip over them as they were stray animals. I noted this discrepancy to my mother more than once when I was still young, but she would never elaborate to me. As I grew older I realized that humans thought she was </span>
  <em>
    <span>dangerous</span>
  </em>
  <span>. To the humans, my mother was like a wild animal—outwardly alluring, but one that could lash out at any moment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      The thought made me laugh for its sheer absurdity. To me, she was never anything but beautiful. I had loved to stare at her face, tracing the intricate vallaslin lines with my fingertips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      A single moment and the point of a spear was all it took to steal all of that away. I had lost not only her, but all the promises of the future upon which I had rested my entire identity. My father had always listened to her telling me that we would rejoin her people the way any indulgent parent would: placating, but without conviction. I knew that he would have followed my mother wherever she went, but without her, he would never leave Denerim.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      So what could I do? Without her, I had nothing to tie me to the Dalish, nothing to link me to the family I did not know.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I do not remember when the thought occurred to me…when I decided to do it. It was as though I became aware of the decision rather than making it myself. If I had the vallaslin I would be explicitly bound to my mother, and to the Dalish.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      So I used a sewing needle and ink from a quill well and tattooed my own face in the clouded mirror in our apartment.  I didn’t know any other patterns except Mama’s, but she had told me that every vallaslin was different. I stayed up all night, carefully tapping each line by candle light, tracing curving lines upon my brow and cheekbones. I had just begun my chin when my Da found me. I will never forget his horror when he saw the blood and ink smeared on my face. His anger at having ‘mutilated’ my face was doubled when he realized I had burned through our only taper candle in order to complete the task.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I would be lying if I said there was no part of me that had wanted to force any response out of my nearly catatonic father. People often said that I was the spit of my mother, but in truth the only features I really shared with her were my tawny skin and copper hair. My facial features had too much of my da in them to be her true match. And where my mother’s eyes had been a soft brown, my eyes were mismatched, one of pale jade, the other ochre. Where Mama had been beautiful, I was unsettling. This had always been the greatest difference between us. But with the vallaslin…the resemblance was undeniable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I had thought perhaps if Da saw her in me again it might be enough to shock him from his depression. In fact it had had the opposite effect. After that day he barely looked at me. We lived together, but only in technicality. He was a ghost, spending half his nights in the taverns, looking for some truth hidden at the bottom of his mug. The debts began to multiply, but nothing could stir him from his listlessness. I had wanted to leave and search out my mother’s people as I had always planned, but stayed for fear of what would happen to him if I left.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      When he died, I had inherited those debts, trapping me in Denerim more firmly than ever before. It felt like a cruel joke to me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Well if it’s worth anything,” Shianni said, forcing me out of my hollow memories, “I hope you don’t go. With Soris getting married now, who will I talk to?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Not for the first time, I felt a pang at the thought of leaving my best friend. But that was a hitch to be dealt with later. It would be some time before I had the freedom to leave. I wrapped an arm around Shianni’s shoulder as we walked. “I would miss you too. But Soris isn’t married yet, who knows…” I grinned mischievously, “...the bride may run away when she sees him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Shianni laughed, clutching at my arm, “That would be entertaining to say the least.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      We walked together through the portcullis into the alienage. It was built on a small island in the river, with two gated bridges as the only entry or exit points. The best word to describe the alienage was  ‘cramped’. With so little land, the only direction left to build was up. The buildings grew up so tall they blocked out most of the sunlight except at midday. In many places, they converged above the streets, both sides leaning towards the other like lovers into a kiss. Linens hung like cobwebs across the haphazard pathways, which were so narrow in many places only two could walk abreast. Snow melt pooled in muddy puddles, half-rotted planks of wood laid across them in some places to ease the foot traffic. Meek shops often occupied the street-level floors—anything from sparsely stocked produce stands to sordid brothels —with apartments on the higher floors, each one often housing several families. Food commodities were difficult to come by in the alienage, and most shops carried little more than weevil-ridden grain meal, molded cheese, and hard salt-cured meats on a good day. At least rats weren’t a common problem—and not because of an abundance of cats. They usually tasted faintly of rot, but if you were quick enough to avoid their gnashing teeth they were better than an empty belly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      But among the misery, bright spots could still be found. Small gardens eked out a meager existence in forgotten alley ways tended by small children, they being the only ones with enough stubborn optimism to coax life out of the stale ground. Wildflowers sometimes grew through cracked plaster, and sparrows flew down to bathe their feathers in the puddles, chirping little songs as they did.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Shianni and I made our way to the middle of the alienage where the cramped streets opened up into a square we called the Green. There, the vhenadahl grew as tall as the apartments surrounding it. Its branches, which were just beginning to show bright green buds, shaded a good portion of the square. The vhenadahl was one of the few relics of elven culture that persisted into our city lives, though if you asked most elves they wouldn’t be able to say exactly why we kept a vhenadahl. My mother told me that it meant </span>
  <em>
    <span>tree of the people</span>
  </em>
  <span> in the old tongue and that it was the spiritual connection to the pantheon. Of course, since most in the alienage kept the faith of the Chantry, who regaled the Maker and the prophetess Andraste, the great oak tree was little more than a quaint symbol of our lost collective heritage.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Today the vhenadahl seemed dwarfed by the activity surrounding it. The Green was filled with milling people and pack-laden donkeys. Curs wandered through the crowd, smelling the strange scents that the newcomers brought with them. Children were about in droves, petting the indifferent donkeys and climbing upon the carts and lower branches of the great tree. The adults were too caught up in their own mirth to reprimand the boisterous rabble. Some of the older elves knew one or two of the visitors and they embraced each other happily, while for others it was the first time they had ever met another elf from outside our alienage. I scanned the new faces but didn’t see anyone I recognized from the last wedding that had been held here. I smiled to the elves I knew from the Denerim alienage, and they greeted Shianni and me excitedly, stopping briefly to express their enthusiasm for the impending nuptials. Everyone was too roused to stop for long before they spotted another acquaintance and moved off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      It wasn’t hard to find Soris in the throng, his auburn hair shining like a beacon amongst the others.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Shianni! Sarabi!” He called when he saw us, raising his hand and pushing through the people squashed around him to reach us. He embraced first Shianni and then me, out of breath with eagerness. “You’re here!” he said, smiling ear to ear. “Come on, I want you to meet my bride.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Slow down, Soris!” Shianni laughed as he dragged her—and she dragged me—through the crowd. “She came all this way, she won’t disappear if you leave her for five minutes!” He paid no heed to her protests.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      He walked up to a young elf in a pale blue woolen dress which was somewhat stained by days on the road. She was decent looking, with wide-set eyes, a small mouth, and golden hair to match Soris’s. She continually smoothed the front of her skirts, which gave away her nerves, but otherwise she hid them well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I want you to meet my best friends, Sarabi and Shianni,” he said to the girl, coming to stand beside her. “Cousins, this is my bride, Aniya.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      She bobbed a polite but awkward curtsy. “I’m very pleased to meet you, both.” Decent-looking, I thought again, but with a soft crackling voice that reminded me of a lamb, an impression that was reinforced by her wide-set eyes; I wondered if she had raised sheep in Highever.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Shianni!” a distant voice called out from somewhere above. Turning my head towards the source of the call, I saw the thin form of Shianni’s mother, leaning out the narrow window of an upper-story apartment. “Shianni, come in here now! I’m up to my ears in babes!” She disappeared back into the apartment and I picked up the distant wailing of more than one voice inside the room. She had given birth mere weeks ago to another babe, making Shianni a sister for a third time. Her husband had been taken by the same fever that took my own father, and depended on Shianni for almost everything now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Shianni sighed, turning back towards us. “That’s me off then, I’ll try to make it back out later.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      The gathering around the vhenadahl would likely persist until well past sundown, especially once someone inevitably tapped open a barrel of ale. Alcohol was always common-place in the alienage, as it had the utility of making one forget they were hungry. Shianni kissed each of us on the cheek, assuring Aniya that they would have plenty of opportunity to talk later, before she disappeared into the crowd.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Here,” Soris said, turning back around after reaching for something on the small low table behind him. He handed me an ale mug full to the brim with dark liquid. On the table I now saw a barrel had already been tapped. Soris turned to fill two more mugs, handing one to Aniya and keeping the other for himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>       “To new beginnings,” he said, grinning broadly as he raised his mug.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Aniya and I echoed the sentiment wholeheartedly and drank.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Figures you would have already found the ale,” I said to Soris, elbowing him playfully.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Well, it is a party after all,” he said, unabashed as he took another gulp.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I laughed. “Soris has always loved his drink,” I said to Aniya lightheartedly. “He could probably hear the sound of a pour on the other end of the alienage.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I’m not quite so talented as that,” Soris said, his teeth clenched behind his smile. The warning to me was clear in his voice, which I cheerfully ignored.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “You remember Deniri’s wedding, don’t you, cousin?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Remember what exactly?” he asked, wiping his mouth and looking at me suspiciously.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “We were barely ten years old, but Soris managed to snag us each an ale pot and I dared him to drink it all in one go while standing on his hands. Shianni and I held his legs up.” Soris was going red, embarrassment and annoyance warring on his face. “Drunk for a day and half, weren’t you, cousin?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “She’s exaggerating,” he told Aniya, laughing nervously.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Don’t be modest!” I teased. “You have real talent. Besides, I think it’s only fair that your bride-to-be knows she’s marrying a depraved drunk,” I added, holding my ale pot up to cheers once more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Remind me to dunk you in the river after this. Anything to shut your gob,” Soris muttered to me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “It’s alright,” Aniya said, conciliatorily. “What are cousins for if not to mortify you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Soris looked at her gratefully, his eyes lighting up as the chagrin washed away. I thought he looked very much like an eager sheep dog who had found his lost charge. She smiled back at him shyly, before she cleared her throat conspicuously and turned to me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “My elders told us a bit about you, Sarabi, but they didn’t say that you were a jester.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I laughed, taking another drink. “I’m hardly—why would your elders tell you about me?” I asked suddenly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Her eyebrows drew together softly. “Well, she said we would know you by the very interesting marks upon your face. Are they Dalish tattoos? They are very strange. Not meaning any offense, of course!” she added hastily.  “They are lovely, I’ve never seen anything like it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Thank you,” I said reflexively, still muddled from her prior comment. “My mama was Dalish.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Ah, that is very interesting,” Aniya said politely. “She must have told you many stories. I don’t know very much about our woodland cousins. Perhaps you could tell me more sometime.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I’d be happy to.” Had the act of a city elf marking herself as one of the Dalish been so sordid as to stir gossip all the way in Highever? I had certainly caused talk enough here in the Denerim alienage, but after several years, that particular vein of talk had gone dormant with the development of fresher scandals.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “But I’m being silly,” she said, waving a hand. “You must be dying to meet Nelaros! I’m sure he’s around here somewhere…” she wandered off abruptly before I could ask her for details about my notoriety.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “What is she talking about?” I asked Soris, inclining my head. “Who’s Nelaros?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Haven’t a clue.” He shrugged, scratching his head while he took another swig of ale. “So what do you think of her?” he asked, nodding in the direction Aniya had gone. I put aside my bafflement for a moment, and I looked him dead in the eyes, grinning slyly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Bahhh,” I bleated softly. He swung at me suddenly, but I had expected his strike, and I dodged neatly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Hey!” he said, pointing his finger at me sternly, though he couldn’t conceal his smile. “That’s my wife!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I opened my free hand innocently. “Not yet.” He swung again—and missed again. “You should ask her if she grew the wool for her dress herself,” I laughed. But then I wasn’t quick enough and his fist caught me in the ribs. I dropped my ale pot, the amber liquid splashing into the muddied ground. I swung at him from overhead, aiming for his ear but instead glancing off his forehead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      He rubbed his head casually, but I knew it hadn’t been a hard blow. He set his mug down on top of a nearby wagon. “Such cruelty!” he jeered. “When was the last time we tussled, cousin? It’s been too long.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I don’t know, all I remember is I beat you last time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Only because you cheated.” He feigned to the right then made a dive directly at me. I elbowed him in the ribs, knocking out his breath. Still, he managed to take hold of my wrist and twist my arm behind my back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Give up?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      In answer, I stepped to the side, as far as my pinned arm would allow, hooking my leg behind him. I reached across my body and took hold of him with my free hand, then bent at the waist and tossed him over my hip. Pain tore at my captive arm in the second before he let go and landed with a satisfying thud on the ground.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “No such thing as cheating in a fight,” I said through labored breaths, rubbing the pain out of my shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      A small gasp made me look up. Aniya was standing there, along with much of the immediate crowd, her wide eyes going back and forth between me and Soris on the ground. Soris, having heard the gasp as well, scrambled to his feet, hastily brushing off his coat, but he could do nothing for the muddy stain covering his back half.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      He cleared his throat. “Just a little friendly competition,” he said, bashfully. “Nothing to worry about.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Likewise, I attempted to straighten my appearance, and had the good grace to look embarrassed. Perhaps wrestling in the street was taking things a little too far. Despite my earlier mockery, I didn’t really want Aniya to think Soris was a trouble-maker.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I just thought Sarabi would like to meet Nelaros,” Aniya said quietly, gesturing to an elf standing beside her. He was young, around my own age. He had golden hair, with a pointed chin and arched nose, about Soris’s height, which put him a few inches taller than me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Maker smile upon you,” he said, bowing slightly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I gave a belated curtsy. “Pleasure,” I said. He wore sturdy, travel-appropriate trousers and a linen shirt. His waistcoat was well-worn but well-made. “I trust you had an uneventful journey?” I asked politely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Oh yes, quite uneventful, no brigands to be had, though we did hear a lot of talk about the roads being more dangerous down south, luckily trouble left our party alone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      He seemed unaccountably nervous, though I barely noticed, preoccupied as I was with the mystery of why I should want to meet this elf in particular. His youth meant he was clearly not an elder. There seemed nothing extraordinary about him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I realized that Aniya’s insistence on my meeting this Nelaros must be no more than the courtesy of introducing friends to new acquaintances. He was most likely a brother or cousin of hers. As Soris had introduced me to her, it was only expected for her to introduce her own company.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Soris,” Aniya said, turning to him. “I want to introduce you to my elders, I don’t believe you’ve met them yet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Perhaps I should change my shirt first,” he said trying to look at the mud on his back and sending me a steely glare. Aniya looked sympathetically at him. I was happy at least to see she hadn’t been too dissuaded from him by our antics. They left off to find fresh clothes and I saw that Soris had left his half-finished ale on the wagon. As mine had been lost to the ground during our tussle, I shrugged and picked up his. I took a hearty swig and offered the next drink to Nelaros, who had not left with the other two. He took the mug from me and took a tentative sip.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I didn’t think I would be this nervous,” he said to the ale.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “There’s no reason to be nervous,” I replied. “Weddings are always chaotic. It will settle down a bit tomorrow when half of these people have headaches.” I gestured to the commotion around us. It had been getting darker as the evening pressed on, but people were lighting the lanterns that were strung through the lower branches of the vhenadahl, illuminating the Green.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Aren’t you nervous?” he asked in a low voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Why should I be?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      He gave a short laugh and shook his head, as though I had just said something terribly witty. “I wish I had your courage.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I shrugged again. “It’s not easy seeing a friend move into married life, but it will be alright. Soris is already besotted and Aniya seems happy enough with the match.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “And you? Are you…happy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Once again I was confused by this train of conversation, but carried on cordially. “Eventually, when I leave Denerim, I will be.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      He looked at me in alarm and confusion. “But we can’t leave.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I reflected his expression back on him. “We? What are you talking about?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      His mouth worked for a moment, his brow furrowed together. “D-don’t you know? We are betrothed, our elders have arranged it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I couldn’t help but burst out laughing. “No, you must have the wrong person.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “There aren’t many others with tattoos on their face.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      My mirth faded like a snuffed candle. “But I don’t—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “You…didn’t know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I opened my mouth to answer but a hand on my shoulder startled me out of speaking. I turned around and it was Valendrian, the head of the Council of Elders, and the head of the alienage. His white hair was tied back behind his long ears in several thin plaits. His skin was pale and lined with age, although his expression never seemed to shift from calm. He was not a particularly tall elf, but he had a commanding presence and was well respected, even among the humans.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Ah Sarabi, I see you’ve already made yourself acquainted with Nelaros,” he said calmly, though he could not have missed the thousand questions burning in my eyes. He turned to Nelaros, “Please be welcome to our alienage. I’m sorry some urgent business kept me away, or I would have been here sooner.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “That’s quite alright, Elder. It’s an honor to be here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Sarabi, might I have a moment?” he asked me, even as he was already herding me away with a hand on my shoulder. My throat felt strangled as my questions caught upon each other, rendering me momentarily mute. I did not resist and followed his lead, my thoughts running like a spooked cart horse. Valendrian brought me to a secluded corner away from the celebrators.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Valendrian, what is going on?” I said, having found my voice again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      He sighed. “I had not wished for you to find out this way.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “That boy said that he and I were betrothed, would you like to fill in the blanks for me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      He sighed again, resigned and placating. “You know your da did not leave you with much. The debts that he accumulated—“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Were passed on to me, I know this,” I said impatiently. “What does any of that have to do with me </span>
  <em>
    <span>marrying</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “How do you expect to make a living for yourself alone? If your da were alive, he would have found you a suitable husband, but that task has fallen to the Council now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I can take care of myself, I’m paying the debts,” I said defiantly. “And once I have, I am leaving Denerim to join the Dalish. You can’t stop me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “You think finding the Dalish will be so easy? You think you’re the first young elf to think of trying? Most come crawling back within a few weeks, abused and starving. More and more these past month there have been rumors of attacks emerging from the south, raiders or darkspawn, it’s hard to say what is true. But all the stories agree on one thing: that it is not safe to be out in the country. You deserve better. We’re giving you a real future, Sarabi.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I took a step back from him. “So the elders conspired to have me betrothed, without telling me, and kept it from me until the last moment?” I had raised my hand, marking each grievance with a raised finger as I recounted them. “Valendrian, this is wrong. I can’t get married, I </span>
  <em>
    <span>can’t</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I </span>
  <em>
    <span>won’t</span>
  </em>
  <span>!” I clenched my hand into a fist.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Come now, Sarabi,” he said in exasperation. “It’s time. Don’t you see? It’s time to put away these childish fancies and to take your place in the community. Nelaros will be a good match. Not many young men would be so at ease of marrying a headstrong girl, with the evidence thereof tattooed plain on her face.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I didn’t do this for the approval of any man. I did it for my mother’s people.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Your mother’s people were </span>
  <em>
    <span>here</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Sarabi, she left the Dalish to be here with your da, Maker give them both rest. She was a very special person, but she made the right choice to stay. I don’t need to tell you that the realm is harsh to our people. We are better when we stick together.” I had been looking away from him still, and he reached out and gently turned my face to him so I would meet his eyes. “You look more and more like her every day. I just hope that one day you will learn to be happy as she was in the life she made for herself here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I twisted my chin away from his hand. “Mama was never happy here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      He frowned. “Your mother loved your father.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “That’s not the same thing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      He pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, and took a prolonged pause. “Will you not even give Nelaros a chance?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Despite my obstinacy I felt the angry tears rising at the injustice of it all. How could he demand that I give Nelaros—someone I knew nothing about, nor had any notion of even existing until bare minutes ago—give him a chance to be my husband for the rest of my days?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I clenched my teeth and shook my head, pressing my fists into my eyes, unable to form a cogent sentence. He put his hand on my shoulder in a gesture that I was sure was meant to be comforting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Soris and you will marry Aniya and Nelaros tomorrow,” he said, in a tone that brooked no argument. “Don’t do anything foolish before then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      He squeezed my shoulder and left me in the shadowy corner. The sounds of distant jubilation reached me, but any distinction between the voices were muddled by the ringing in my ears. My arms, legs, and face tingled with an emotion I could not name, somewhere between fury and fear. Suddenly I was a little girl again, backed into a corner, out-numbered by bullies far larger than me with slurs in their mouths and rocks in their fists. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      But I was not the same then as I was now. I was not racked with the terror of uncertainty and weakness. I knew exactly what I had to do.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Even before I commanded my legs to move, I was off, running through the Green.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Awry</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>I ran—at least, as much as it was possible to run in the throng. I kept my head down, hoping to avoid any notice as I ducked under extended arms clinking mugs together and through narrow gaps between bodies. Once I was away from the Green I broke out into a dead sprint. The tight streets were all but empty. Everyone, it seemed, was taking part in the festivities. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Night was falling quickly. The tall buildings were cloaked in black shadow on either side of the street, the sky visible only as a strip of darkened blue. There were no lamps to illuminate the path, but I did not need them. I knew these streets like a bird knows the wind. I ran without a second of hesitation towards the apartments where I usually slept. The building was one of many of its kind in the alienage, inhabited by those without family or spouse, or those who could not afford to live anywhere else. I threw open the front door, hardly slowing to do so, and bounded up the narrow stairs two at a time and through the winding halls to my room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      There was no lock on my door; I had nothing of value to protect. The room was narrower than my arm span, and barely long enough to fit a small straw cot and a crooked table with a chipped wash bowl. When my father still lived, we shared one of the larger apartments with two beds and a hearth. When my mother lived we had had something almost like a proper house in another part of the alienage. That seemed like a long time ago. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      But I didn’t have time to reflect on any of that. I pulled my patchwork satchel from under the cot and hastily stuffed in an undyed wool shirt, and wool overdress. They were the only clothes I owned besides those I already wore. I had nothing of sentiment, no memento from either of my parents. I had seven silver coins and five bronze bits in my pocket—the bronze coins were from my day’s wages at the laundry house, the rest from what I had been able to spare for my savings the last three months. Traveling through the countryside would be difficult with less than ten silvers to hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I consciously decided not to think about the fact that by leaving now, I would be shirking my debts, which came with its own risks. I had little choice anymore. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Having gathered what I needed, I left the small room without a second glance. Down the hall was the communal kitchen, which was thankfully empty of any tenants. The fire in the hearth had burned down to coals, a black iron cauldron hung on a spit over it, half full of thin broth. Likely the dinner had been abandoned in the flurry of activity as news of the wedding party’s arrival rippled through the alienage earlier that day. A half-eaten loaf of bread sat forgotten on the table; I wrapped it in the shirt I had already packed and placed it back into my satchel.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I still had not passed another soul as I went back down to the street. It was dark enough now that I likely wouldn’t be recognized. Just the same, I donned the hood of my cloak and brought the edge of my scarf above my chin. The air was chill enough that no one would think it odd to see someone bundled up. I hoped the copious amount of drink that would by then have been collectively consumed would also aid my anonymity. I did not run any more, but my pace was brisk and I wasted no time in heading towards the gate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      There were two gates into the alienage, the larger one being the way by which I had returned earlier that day. That gate was the most direct route to the market district, while the lesser gate faced towards the lower city. Both gates were shut every sunset and only opened again at dawn. It was forbidden for any elf to be outside of the alienage after dark. When unrest in the city was high, sentries would be posted at both gates to make sure no one went in or out, even during the day. When the fever had spread three months ago the city guard had placed the alienage under quarantine, but over the last several weeks the gates had been left unattended more and more. ‘Dedicated’ was never a word used to describe the city guard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Only one of the moons was visible tonight as a thin arching crescent, providing little light by which to see, but my elf eyes more than sufficed in the dark. Our eyes glowed at night, like a cat’s, reflecting and magnifying what dim light there was to allow us to see comfortably when most humans would be helplessly blind. Not for the first time, I mused that this was likely no small part of the reason we were forbidden from leaving at night. I imagined being a human walking at night, seeing a vague shadow come into view at the end of a long alleyway, it turning towards me and seeing no face but blue glowing disks for eyes and the silhouette of long pointed ears. To them, we must look like darkspawn—beasties that haunted children’s storytales. The thought made me smile…or would have, if I was not so focused on my path. Darkspawn were myth, of course, just stories that gullible folk believed. No one had actually seen a darkspawn for centuries.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I headed towards the lesser gate as it was the one least likely to be guarded. As it came into view, I was careful to keep hidden in the shadows. A singular oil lamp hung above the archway, casting the immediate area in an orange glow. I could see now that it was indeed vacant of watchmen. I gave another cursory glance around to make sure no one would see me, and darted forward. The wrought iron lattice of the portcullis was tight, but not so narrow that I could not fit my shoulders through at just the right angle. My torso, hips, and finally legs followed. I quickly reached back through to pull my satchel under the gate and lunged back into the shadows, away from the lamplight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I held my breath, waiting to see if I had been noticed. The nightly sounds of the city were normal. I couldn’t hear anyone shouting for me, no footsteps approaching. I was free. I pulled my hood around my face once more and began to walk normally.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      A few pedestrians still roamed the streets—there was no curfew for humans in the city—but most hurried about whatever business they had without paying much mind to anyone else. The lower district streets were a labyrinth, but I knew them well enough. During the daylight, this part of the city was host to less prestigious merchants, whose goods were just as likely stolen as not. But the night belonged to those selling a different type of good all together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      In the upper districts, one could easily find a brothel that served fine wine and cuisine, where the employees wore jewels in their hair and put on shows of virility and perverse talents. Or so I heard, naturally having never been inside one myself. Here, company was just as easily found, though with decidedly less…refinement. As I walked, I passed by the several brothels where the employees stood in door frames, displaying their wares openly and beckoning patrons with no trace of feigned coyness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I knew if I had been willing, I could have made twice as much coin in one of those houses as I did at the laundry. There were a great many establishments which catered to the tastes of those who considered our kind—the elves, that is—to be exotic, mysterious, and beautiful. The fact that elves were not allowed out of the alienage at night was only a minor inconvenience. As long as the girls—and boys—did not leave after sunset they were usually safe. From the city guard at least.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Intimate relations between humans and elves was not, strictly speaking, forbidden, but it was frowned upon, by elves and humans alike. Perhaps more so, strangely, by the elves. Children of elves and humans were always human in appearance. For some reason the elders considered this deleterious to our community.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I held no derision for those who earned a living however they could, and it </span>
  <em>
    <span>was </span>
  </em>
  <span>good money, but I couldn’t help but be glad I had never resorted to that sort of occupation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I touched my hood as I walked through the light which spilled onto the street through open doorways, keeping my eyes down, lest anyone catch a glimpse of shine from my eyes or make out the shape of my ears. Without noticing those characteristics, anyone might take me for a short human—although I was in fact tall for an elf. I did not rush, walking no faster than anyone around me, but slower than none, giving no one a reason to single me out. As I walked on there were fewer and fewer people out and I began to relax a little.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      The next task would be leaving the city itself. I knew I couldn’t simply walk out of the city gates. Those </span>
  <em>
    <span>were </span>
  </em>
  <span>guarded, and I would be far too conspicuous. The outer walls were high and patrolled regularly. I had always been sure of foot and hand, and so I had little doubt of my ability to scale the wall, but I could not make myself invisible. Perhaps I could stow away into the back of a wagon, but what merchant would be leaving the city at this time of night? Perhaps I would need to wait until morning when— </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I slammed mid-stride into something solid and was knocked flat on my back, even as I flung my arms out wide to catch myself. I gasped with surprise, which quickly turned to wild panic as my mind caught up to events.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I had turned a corner blindly, and run right into a guardsman.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “What in the blind dark are you—!” He froze in shock and I realized I was looking right into his lantern, the light of which, in my ruminations, I had failed to see before rounding the corner. My eyes were surely glowing openly. I felt the night air on my ears and I knew that they too were visible. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      We both recovered ourselves in the same instant. He grabbed for me as I scrambled to my feet. Two steps I ran before fingers of iron clamped around my arm. I twisted around and tried to pry his rough fingers away, with about as much effect as if I tried to pull a metal padlock apart.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “What’s this, then?” he said loudly, his voice echoing through the streets. “A rabbit out caught out of its burrow after dark?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I quickly thought through my options, finding myself woefully short of them. He was easily a head taller than me and more than twice my weight. He wore boiled leather armor and a simple helm. I doubted that I would be able to fight him off, unless I could land a lucky jab into his throat or eyes. I was undoubtedly faster than him at a run, but this was rendered moot as long as he held me. “Where you off to in such a hurry?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I’m trying to get back to the alienage,” I said quickly. “I—I got lost.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Lost, is it?” he scoffed. “Likely story. It’s three days in the pillory for skulking around at night. And what’s this you’ve got?” He reached for my satchel, and I instinctively jerked it away. I immediately regretted the action. “Stolen goods, no doubt,” he said with satisfaction. “You’ll lose a hand for that, knife-ears.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I clenched my fists and stared directly at him. “I’ll make you swallow your teeth if you try,” I said coldly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      The orange torch light played menacing shadows on his face as he scowled, reaching for the heavy baton at his belt. “A rabbit with the tongue of a viper,” he said, bringing the baton up. “But you’ll learn to speak with respect.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I braced myself for the impact, but it didn’t come. Instead a clear voice rang through the darkness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “That won’t be necessary, guardsman.” The voice was calm but commanding. I recognized it immediately, and for a moment I thought I would rather take my chances with the guard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Valendrian came into the lantern light, his face as blank as a stone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “And who are you?” the guard said after a moment, clearly unsure what to make of this second elf’s sudden appearance. His eyes glanced towards the shadows beyond the lamp light, as though expecting more of us to appear like specters in the night.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I am Valendrian, Speaker for the Alienage. This girl is in my charge,” he said evenly. I had more than two inches of height on Valendrian, which meant the human towered over him. But though he tilted his head back slightly to speak to the man, Valendrian stood with the air of some great lord, his glinting eyes intent and entirely self-possessed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “This</span>
  <em>
    <span> girl</span>
  </em>
  <span> was skulking around after dark, an offense for which I ought to nail you both by your ears to the pillory and leave you until I think you’ve learnt your lesson,” the guardsman growled, jerking at my arm and pointing his baton towards Valendrian.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Valendrian’s face didn’t change or so much as twitch. He spoke as calmly as he would if he were speaking to an old acquaintance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “As Speaker I have permission from the magistrate to leave the alienage at any time in service to my people.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I felt my eyebrows knit together as he said that. I doubted he had any such permission, Speaker, or no. But he spoke with such conviction that I wanted to believe him. I worked to smooth my expression, lest I give away his bluff.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Valendrian continued in the same measured tone. “Forgive this one.” He gestured to me. “She is new to Denerim. You can see by the markings upon her face that she is Dalish, and she did not understand the laws we have which keep the good people of this city safe. It is a mistake she will not make again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      The guardsman’s mouth twisted in anger. “She’ll not make the mistake of thieving once I’ve taken her hand.” He slung the baton back into the loop on his belt and unsheathed a short blade hanging beside it. Valendrian took a step forward and opened his mouth to protest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Keep talking, knife-ears,” the guardsman shouted, pointing the blade at Valendrian now,  “and I’ll have you thrown into the dungeons beneath Fort Drakon until Andraste rises from her ashes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Valendrian backed up a step, one palm raised demurely while he reached for his belt pouch with the other.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Surely a fine would be sufficient to allay her crime,” he said, and I heard the unmistakable sound of coins clinking in a heavy purse.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      The guard froze and I knew he heard it too. His mouth hung open for a moment, then he looked suspiciously between Valendrian and I.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Valendrian continued quickly before the other man could say anything. “As for me, I can assure you that the elves would not be amused to hear that the Speaker has been imprisoned. One thing leads to another…” he shrugged indifferently, casually undoing the string of the purse, and appeared to begin to count coins, “…next you know and you’ve a full-fledged riot on your hands—you know how elves get. But that’ll mean double shifts for weeks. And the magistrate will be displeased to learn that all of this was caused by one guardsman who imprisoned the Speaker.” Valendrian looked meaningfully at the other man as I saw the flash of gold in his hand, gone in an instant. “You don’t want that to be you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      The guardsman stood there for a moment and licked his lips, considering Valendrian’s proposition. I held my breath, frozen in his grip.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Suddenly he tossed me away. “Three sovereigns,” he said flatly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I tried to keep my face smooth, but my eyes bulged as he named his price. It was as much as I could make in a year. But Valendrian reached his hand without hesitation towards the man’s opened palm with a gracious bow, and I heard the clink of coins. The guardsman thrust his bribe into his own belt pouch quickly. “I see this one out again—” he pointed the knife to me once more, “—and there won’t be any negotiating.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Of course not,” Valendrian said, his tone emanating reasonability. “Maker’s light guide you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      With that, he took a hold of my arm, his grip one to rival the guardsman’s, and marched in the opposite direction—back towards the alienage. For a moment I considered struggling. I was certain </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>was a fight I could win. But I thought the better of it, knowing that struggling would attract more unwanted attention. So I kept up, though my cooperation did nothing to slacken Valendrian’s hold on me. He was completely silent, sticking to the shadows and back alleys, but I could feel his anger seething through the silence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Let him be angry, I thought. I felt the shame of failure with each step I took, knowing that I was going in the wrong direction. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Upon reaching the lesser gate, Valendrian released me and wordlessly gestured at the gate. For a moment the temptation to simply run came to me once more, but this time it was my pride more than anything that stopped me. He would simply drag me back once more—he had found me once and would do so again—and I refused to graft like a cornered rat. I raised my chin impassively and threw my satchel through the iron lattice before climbing through in the same way I had climbed out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I would cooperate because I chose to, and not for any other reason.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Valendrian followed immediately behind. In spite of myself, I was taken aback at his grace and ease of motion. Valendrian was not a geriatric, but neither was he young by any means. Yet he contorted himself through the slats as though practiced at it, and for a moment I wondered how many times before had he left the alienage after dark.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I marched back to the apartments, avoiding the Green which was still alight with jovial revelers. Valendrian followed behind closely but still said nothing until I reached the door. He put his arm out to delay me a moment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I hope you might join the rest of us in the Green, but if not, I hope you plan to stay out of trouble at least until morning.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      My frustration and embarrassment which I had kept reined in for the sake of stoicism, reared up like a snake at his comment; heat rushed to my face and I bit each word out as I said,  “I had everything under control.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I could see that. Just not </span>
  <em>
    <span>your</span>
  </em>
  <span> control.” He looked at me with the same serenity as he had the guardsman. I ground my teeth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I didn’t ask for your help, and I don’t need it. Now leave me alone, Valendrian. If you expect to make me stay past first light, you will have to put me in the pillory yourself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      He rolled his eyes.  “There’s no need to be so dramatic. You’ve always been prone to that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Oh? Dramatic am I? Well, I’d rather be that than a liar.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I know where this path will take you, Sarabi, I’ve seen it many times before. I am only looking out for what is best for you…and what is best for our people. I do not need to tell you that the world is not kind to us. And you in particular face more dangers on the road than most would. If you leave now, your name will be sold for bounty, and eventually you </span>
  <em>
    <span>will </span>
  </em>
  <span>be caught and sold to slavers and shipped off to the Tevinter Imperium. The bounty hunters’ guild has eyes everywhere in Ferelden and you are conspicuous as it is. There are not very many young fire-haired Dalish elves with two different colored eyes walking around the countryside.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I can manage that,” I said. “I just won’t get caught.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      He raised an eyebrow. “And if tonight has shown us anything it’s how good you are at not getting caught.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Heat rose anew in my neck and face, and infuriatingly I couldn’t find any words with which to retort back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “You’ll be safe in the alienage,” he implored further. “We are stronger when we stick together and attempt to fit into human society. Your da is gone to be with your mama, Maker give them both rest. Who will look out for your future?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I will look out for my own future, and I’ve provided for myself just fine until now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “You have, and you have done well enough. But how long can that last? You are not a child anymore, and by marking your face you truncated your prospects for honest work. No one will be quick to hire a Dalish. Marriage will offset your burdens. You ought to consider your place in the community, or you will be desolate. Your da asked me before he died to make sure you were taken care of. For all his faults he didn’t want you to be destitute.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I suppose the idea that I might have my own plans for my life is too absurd to entertain?” I asked scathingly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      For the first time the mask of serenity slipped from his face and there was exasperation there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “You </span>
  <em>
    <span>planned </span>
  </em>
  <span>to be almost maimed tonight, is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “No!” I couldn’t help the rise in my voice. Because I </span>
  <em>
    <span>had </span>
  </em>
  <span>been stupid. Even if I had avoided the guard, I never would have made it out of the city; I realized that now. I was angry with myself for being too hasty and not taking proper caution. But that knowledge was not enough to make me forget Valendrian’s transgression against me. “I wouldn’t have had to leave after dark if the elders hadn’t kept the wedding a secret from me in the first place!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Because you don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>think,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Sarabi.” His voice raised in volume with mine. “You have never once considered that someone else might know a way better than you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I’ll consider it when I have reason to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Valendrian glared at me silently and I met his stare in kind. A long minute passed between us in silence. Eventually, I saw him let go of his frustration with an effort and he put both hands on my shoulders.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Get some rest. We’ll talk in the morning.” With that, he turned back to the Green, leaving me alone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      For a moment, I made a serious consideration for throwing my satchel at the back of his head. Instead I went up to my apartment, slammed the door with false finality, and quietly went to pieces.</span>
</p><p><span>*           </span> <span>*           </span> <span>*</span></p><p>
  <span>A knock on the door jolted me out of unconsciousness, though I didn’t remember falling asleep. I glanced at the tiny window and saw that it was still night outside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Go away, Valendrian,” I said loudly, proud that my voice didn’t break. My eyes felt tight from crying and I rubbed the soreness away. I hadn’t really believed that he would leave me alone for the rest of the night. He could keep me from leaving the alienage, but I would be damned if I would let him inside my room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “It isn’t Valendrian,” a soft but steady voice came from behind the worn wood of the door. I hesitated a moment before I crossed the room and tentatively unbolted the latch. The light in the hallway was dim, the only illumination provided by the window at the end of the hall which admitted some of the lantern light that bathed the Green.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      The visitor’s face was half shadowed and a moment passed before I recognized him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “May I come in?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Wordlessly I stepped aside to admit Nelaros.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      He stood awkwardly in the tiny room. I had no lamp or candle, so we stood together in near complete darkness, but I knew his night vision would be as good as mine, and there was enough to make out each other’s features. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      In height, he was my equal, but broader in the shoulders. His skin and hair were almost of the same pale tone, his face angular with defined  cheekbones and a cleft chin. I couldn't make out the color of his eyes, but they were clear and inviting. If I could have been impartial, I would have said he was pleasant to look at. As it was, my anxieties were all centered around him, and I couldn’t separate my unhappiness from the boy standing before me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Soris told me where you live.” The words tumbled out of him in a rush and he ran his hand through his hair nervously. “And when you didn’t come back I thought maybe you might want company that wasn’t…all that.” He gestured vaguely to the outside and the party noise. “But now I’m here...” he continued, plainly unsure of himself, “I realize I’m probably the last person you want to see.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I said nothing in response, and as the silence stretched between us he seemed not to know whether to take my muteness as leave to stay or desire for him to go. In truth, I did not know myself—my mind was still catching up to the realization he was here at all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Are you here to convince me to marry you?” I finally asked cautiously.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      His head whipped up in surprise at the question. “Convince you? Maker, if you need convincing then you shouldn’t be forced to it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      At least one person still has their senses tonight, I thought bitterly. I slowly took a seat on the cot and after a second of consideration, invited him to do the same. My heart pounded loudly as he sat beside me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Another moment passed. He took a steadying breath. “You really didn’t know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I shook my head and took a slow breath myself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “It was supposed to be Soris getting married tomorrow, not me,” I explained. “I didn’t know the elders had made a match on my behalf. And they knew full well what my thoughts on the matter would be, so they kept it from me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Surprisingly, he laughed—a short soft sound. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “That’s elders for you. They’re always getting involved with everyone’s affairs, even when no one asked for it. One time the Highever elders stole my father’s wooden leg because he was always leaving my mother alone with us children to go drinking.” A disarming smile suddenly brightened his face. “Of course that didn’t stop him, I still remember him hopping down the street with one leg, for all the world like he didn’t know the difference.” He laughed to himself again, dwelling in the memory for a moment before clearing his throat hastily. “Although I suppose it’s not quite the same thing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Your father seems like quite the character,” I said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Nelaros shrugged vaguely. “He’s never been around much, as you can imagine. And your family? They’re…?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Dead.” The single syllable landed harshly, like a book dropped on a table. I quickly regretted the bluntness, and said, “My mother was killed during the riots many years ago, and a fever took my father some months back. I wasn’t close to him, particularly after my mother died, and I have no brothers or sisters.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Ah,” he said, not unkindly. “I’m…sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I have my cousins still,” I continued, inexplicably wanting him to know that I was not to be pitied. “Though I expect Soris will be around less, now he’s got Aniya.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Nelaros nodded, and affected to put on a lighter tone. “I suppose I’ll be seeing my family again soon, with the wedding being off now. That will be a bit tricky to explain.” He laughed self-deprecatingly, running his hand through his hair. “It will be good to see them again though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Your family did not travel with you?” I asked curiously.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      He waved a hand dismissively. “Only a few cousins, my mother’s health is poor and my brothers stayed to take care of her. The younger ones will be jealous that I’ve seen your vhenadahl. They’ll probably want to hear more about that than anything else.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      He said it with such matter-of-factness, but I was entirely taken aback. “Don’t you have a vhenadahl in Highever?” I asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      He shook his head sadly. “Not for some years. It withered and died, then more and more people took a branch here and there for firewood until there wasn’t anything left.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      A part of my heart broke to hear that. I had always taken the vhenadahl for granted. I didn’t think it would be possible for it to actually die, though of course it certainly could, just the same as any other living thing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “It’s strange…” he continued, looking as though he was considering a persistent riddle. “I never thought about this until ours was gone—but I couldn’t even say what the vhenadahl </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Of course it’s meant to be the last symbol of Elvhenan before it was destroyed by the Tevinter Imperium all those thousands of years ago. But no one even knows what Elvhenan was, not really. You never really hear stories about </span>
  <em>
    <span>that.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Our elders always seemed to skip the part about Andraste and how we owe the Maker a great gratitude for guiding her to free us from the bonds of slavery. But that was centuries after the first homeland was lost. So many traditions we hold onto, like the vhenadahl, and we don’t even know why. I’ve always wondered…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      He looked at me, as though remembering once more that I was there. “You have the bloodwriting, the…</span>
  <em>
    <span>vallaslin</span>
  </em>
  <span>, is it?” he said the word with uncertainty. “I’ve always wondered what it means, why the Dalish do it. Is it like the vhenadahl? A tradition kept for fear of losing something that is already half-lost?” He seemed earnestly curious.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I was dumbfounded for a moment, surprised by the new direction this conversation had taken. Though I had to admit, compared to the topic of my marital qualms, it was a welcome alternative.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “My mother told me it’s a rite of passage,” I said softly. “She said…” I paused, biting my lip. I didn’t really know what the vallaslin meant. I only knew that it was an emblem of my mother’s people, and that had always been good enough for me. I wished now that I could tell him more. Instead, I recalled a part of the history that I </span>
  <em>
    <span>did </span>
  </em>
  <span>know.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “She said that our ancestors were immortal once…in Elvhenan. We used to walk the Fade just as easily as we did the waking world, and that the gods walked among us too. But something happened when the shemlen came. Their very presence quickened our blood, and for the first time we began to age like them. We couldn’t walk the Fade anymore…” I grimaced in frustration, remembering afresh how little my mother had known about those events, and how I, in turn, knew even less. “I suppose that’s why our ancestors could be so easily enslaved.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I looked at him again, and I saw him smile in the darkness. “I didn’t know we could walk the Fade once, I thought that only mages could do that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I wished again that I could tell him more, I wished that I could know all the details, so that I could share them with him, but all I could say was, “I think we all had some kind of magic once. Maybe when we lost immortality we lost that too.” Strange to think that we were still in that small dark room together; I felt very far away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Maybe one day we’ll know again. We try so hard to be accepted by humans. The elders say that even though we may not live to see ourselves finally treated by the humans as their equals, perhaps our children will—and the work we endure today are the seeds that will one day bear fruit. It’s a good plan. But every step we take it seems like we lose more of ourselves. If only there was a way to keep both.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Sometimes I don’t think it’s possible,” I admitted.  “That’s why I can’t get married. As soon as I can, I’m going to find the Dalish.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I didn’t know that those were mutually exclusive.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Marriage and adventure usually are in my experience.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      He looked away, thoughtful again. “I suppose I can understand that. I’ve always wondered if maybe the Dalish have the right of it after all, living apart from humans, speaking the old tongue. We city elves haven’t had much success being accepted by humans, maybe the Dalish have had more success rediscovering our heritage.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “It has to be better than this.” I gestured around at the tiny room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “If it’s better than this you’re looking for, you probably wouldn’t have to go all the way to the Brecilian Forest to find it,” he laughed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      He reached for my hand in the darkness, tentative, waiting to see if I would pull back. I didn’t. A moment passed between us and I could feel his eyes on mine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Why did you agree to marry me?” I asked suddenly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      He paused and withdrew his hand. My skin felt cool where he was no longer touching me. “I had hardly more input on the whole arrangement than you did.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “But you did agree,” I pressed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I did… From what I was told about you—and meeting you hasn’t changed this impression—I thought you were someone I could be friends with. And that’s really the first step isn’t it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I nodded slowly, considering this. “You know I have debts,” I said it more as a warning than a question.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      He shrugged. “Most of us do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “And I really don’t have much of a dowery.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I wouldn’t insist on it. But I could send you an invoice if you do.” His smile told me that he was teasing. Silence grew between us again, and I found I was suddenly very uncomfortable. Not with him exactly, but with some thoughts in my head that were taking root. He sensed the shift in my mood and stood. “I suppose I’ll leave you to your thoughts, then. There must still be some ale to be had somewhere in this alienage.” He smiled, making for the door. Then his expression shifted, and he turned back to me, looking quite grave. “I meant it when I said I wasn’t here to convince you. But if you </span>
  <em>
    <span>do </span>
  </em>
  <span>change your mind, you’ll know where to find me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      With that he strode out, leaving me to my solitude.</span>
</p><p><span>*           </span> <span>*           </span> <span>*</span></p><p>
  <span>I did not sleep again that night, as my mind was a tangle of conflicting thoughts. Valendrian’s words began to weigh on me, despite my obstinacy. I was loath to admit it, but he was right about a few things at least. I wasn’t worried about storytale monsters or even bandits on the road. Afterall, what did I have of value that anyone would want to steal? But the bounty hunters were a real problem. I had been foolish for thinking I could outrun them. Finding the Dalish would be a bit more difficult if I was caught and sold into slavery first.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      But if I was married, I could pay my obligations much faster than I could on my own. It wasn’t a crass thought, I told myself. Nelaros knew about my situation and he was willing to marry me anyway. It wouldn’t be taking advantage…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      My heart yearned for the forests of my mother’s youth, it was the only thing I was sure about in my life. But I would be heartless indeed if I used a husband for financial gain and then abandoned him when the opportunity came. So I decided if Nelaros wanted to come with me, then I would welcome him. He seemed a genuine enough person, someone I could be friends with.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      But while my mind was laying all these great plans my heart still whispered warnings that interrupted my thoughts with each beat. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>      What if I never leave</span>
  </em>
  <span>? What if I became too comfortable in my city life that I kept putting off my journey? What if marriage became a burden that I could not easily uproot? It had happened to my mother, it could happen to me. And if I got with child…well that would be another complication all together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Morning came and I still had not made a decision. The dawn’s light glowed through the dull window, as though seeking me out, accusing and smug. The world itself seemed to be telling me I would not escape so easily. But the city gates would be open now that it was light. I could leave now, if I chose to. Yet I made no move to go.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      A soft knock came to the door, which opened a moment later. My tension eased when I saw it was Shianni rather than Nelaros or Valendrian.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I half expected you to be gone already,” she said, closing the door behind her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “You heard then?” I asked calmly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Only the gist of it,” she said. “When I came out again last night you were nowhere to be seen and everyone was in a frenzy about the secret betrothal. There’s about five different versions of events being passed around now. Some people say that Soris knew and you fought him for keeping it from you. As if he could keep a secret like </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Soris told me some of what happened, and Nelaros and Aniya filled in the rest. It seems the Highever party didn’t know that the double wedding was a secret at all. I wanted to come and see you last night, but Valendrian said you were to be left alone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Didn’t stop Nelaros,” I muttered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “He came here?” she gasped. “Tell me everything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      With a sigh, I recounted my ill-fated flight out of the city, followed by the unexpected visit from my would-be groom. Shianni held both of my hands in my lap as I spoke and did not interrupt as I talked, only widened her eyes in shock at certain points and softened in sympathy at others. She was seated with her back to the window so that the wispy strands of her hair caught the early morning sunlight in brilliant strands of gold, but as I finished the account she looked down so that her face was shadowed and her expression was inscrutable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Well I suppose I won’t scold you for trying to leave without saying goodbye,” she said disapprovingly once I had finished.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Instantly, I felt horrible. “I’m sorry, Shianni, you are like a sister to me, you must believe I didn’t intend to hurt you. Everything is so confusing,” I confessed to her. “I feel like I have no choice.” But even as I said it, I realized that I didn’t know which of my potential futures I was referring to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      She had released my hands and tangled her own fingers together in an expression of uncertainty. Her voice was soft but definitive. “You could choose to stay. Is marriage really so horrible?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I stood, unable to remain still any longer, and began to pace the small room. But as I could barely take two steps in either direction, my pacing turned into agitatedly shifting my weight to either foot as I wrung my hands. “It’s not for me,” I cried. “I’ve never made any pretense otherwise.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      After a moment she reached out again to stop my disquiet. “You have always had a wild heart. If it makes any difference, I don’t think that Nelaros would hold it against you. You could do worse than him, you know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I laughed, but it sounded choked. “Maybe you should marry him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      The corner of her mouth lifted slightly in a reluctant smile. “Mayhaps I should. But I can’t leave my mama yet, Andraste’s mercy but she needs all the help she can get with the babes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      As I looked at her, her soft face smiling, I knew there was also a profound loneliness underneath. Life was unkind…how well I knew that. We all compromised at some point or other, and with each choice so many possibilities were extinguished, many of which we would never know even existed. But new opportunities were constantly appearing too, for good or for ill, or even both at once. When I was a child, so much of my life had already been set out for me. Being born an elf left little room for wants or desires. But as I grew, I </span>
  <em>
    <span>could </span>
  </em>
  <span>choose some things, though I had never been faced with such an intense decision as was before me now. I had always prided myself on not choosing the </span>
  <em>
    <span>easy </span>
  </em>
  <span>way. But I also knew that </span>
  <em>
    <span>easy</span>
  </em>
  <span> was not the same as </span>
  <em>
    <span>simple</span>
  </em>
  <span>. And I knew that choosing it was not always weakness. It was just life.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      The sun streamed bright and golden through the window, reaching out to me, no longer accusing, but waiting for my answer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I realized that I had already come to a decision and I hadn’t even noticed. I turned back to Shianni.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Well do you think they could do without your help for one morning? If I’m to get married today, I suppose I’ll need help braiding my hair.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Marriage Rites</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Shianni was delighted but kept her joy muted for my sake. She sensed, correctly, that though I had come to the decision, I was far from satisfied with it. Part of me was relieved, but another felt like I had betrayed my very core. </p><p>      My somber mood was juxtaposed by the commotion that soon surrounded me. Shianni left briefly to spread the news and when she returned she was accompanied by several other women, mostly elders, to help me prepare. My room being far too small to accommodate the entire group, the communal kitchen was commandeered for the task. This soon meant every tenant in the building was crowding in, wanting to be included in the preparations. </p><p>      Raena, a kindly elder who I was generally fond of—though I couldn’t forget that she had been among those who lied about the betrothal—shooed most of the onlookers away. She and the others seemed entirely unconcerned with the whole debacle of the previous day, though I didn’t doubt they all knew everything from Valendrian. An embroidered linen dress was brought for me to wear, as I owned nothing of enough quality for the occasion.</p><p>      Shianni put several fine braids through my hair, weaving small brass rings into the plaits as added decoration. The elders had me wash my face with goat’s milk infused with honey and violets. ‘To make my skin glow,’ they said. A mirror was brought in which I should admire myself. But when I gazed into it, I didn’t look radiant. I looked just as tired and hollow as I felt, only with milk dripping down my face. </p><p>      For breakfast we had a rare treat of butter and jam on bread along with a few sausages. But I ate little, my stomach feeling twisted with nerves. My lack of appetite was roundly admonished by my attendants, but I did not care. I did drink two tankards full of ale before anyone noticed how quickly I was drinking, and I was cut off. It wouldn’t do, they said, if I was slurring my words when I gave the vows. I, however, doubted that I should have the courage to say the words at all without at least a little impairment.</p><p>      When I was dressed and adorned with all the ornamentry that could be spared, I was left alone in my room once more and told that I would be summoned when it was time. By that point, my stores of patience had been thoroughly depleted, and I felt like a broodmare trapped in her stall. When I couldn’t stand to stay in that room any longer, I threw on my cloak and walked down to the street.</p><p>      Outside the air was clear and cool. By the position of the sun, it was still shy of noon. Children laughed and ran playing games through the streets, while most of the adults were either walking intently on errands, or lying propped against walls and in the gutters, having inadvertently slept wherever they fell the night before. Most of the wagons had been unloaded and cleared out of the Green, and in their place a large platform was in the final stages of assembly.</p><p>      I wandered without purpose, simply observing everything around me. A few people offered their congratulations to me, which I accepted with as much grace as I could manage. But when some demanded details that I did not care to share, I became very short tempered, and they left grumbling about the insolence of young folk these days.</p><p>      I had just decided to go in search of more alcohol, when I came upon Soris, himself with a draught in hand. </p><p>      “Eventful night, eh, cousin?” he said, clapping me on the shoulder. “And here I thought you’d be halfway to Orlais by now.”</p><p>      “Can I have that?” I asked, ignoring his teasing, and reached for his mug without waiting for his answer. I took a gulp, then two more.</p><p>      “I thought I was the drunk among us. Keep on like that, and you won’t be able to see straight at all,” he said, glancing over my shoulder.</p><p>      “That’s the idea,” I said without inflection. “Where are Aniya and Nelaros?”</p><p>      He turned his attention back to me. “Hm? Oh, I’m not sure, getting ready I assume. What, you’re not afraid Nelaros will bolt now, are you?”</p><p>      “Not quite.” I drank again; the cup was nearly empty and I was feeling pleasantly woozy. Soris didn’t say anything else and I realized that he was staring warily at something over my shoulder. “What are you looking at?”</p><p>      “Don’t look now, but we might be in for some trouble.”</p><p>      I turned anyway, and there I saw, two alleys down, a human strolling through the alienage, taking slow steps and watching everything around him with casual interest. He was tall and armed, a great sword strapped to his back, and dirk at his side. In chainmail armor and an emblazoned surcoat, he looked like a knight, but no knight I had ever seen in Denerim bore the device of a two-headed griffon.</p><p>      “We’ve already run off two humans who thought that the party was an open invitation to drink and harass any woman who walks passed,” Soris said to me in a low voice. “But this one might not be so easily dissuaded.”</p><p>      “I’ll take care of him,” I said, and handed the empty mug back to him.</p><p>      Soris suddenly looked more concerned than before. “Ah, no, you’re clearly drunk. We should let the elders deal with it.”</p><p>      “I can handle a single human perfectly fine,” I grumbled. “What’s he gonna do—stab me? I’m faster than him I bet, encased in all the metal.”</p><p>      “Alright, but I’ll go with you…as backup. Just in case,” he added, clearly nervous.</p><p>      I rolled my eyes, but didn’t protest. As we approached the man drew his hands behind his back and waited patiently for us to approach, without a trace of fear or hostility. Nonetheless, I didn’t trust him.</p><p>      “This is a private ceremony, Ser,” I said without preamble.</p><p>      “Ah, yes, I had heard there was a wedding celebration today. Might I assume that I may give my congratulations to the both of you?”</p><p>      I opened my mouth to respond with more bite, but Soris cut me off. “You may, Ser, with our thanks.” He quickly shot me a narrow-eyed look. “Have you any business in the alienage?” he asked, turning back to the man.</p><p>      “I do,” the man replied, his stance and expression entirely unchanged.</p><p>      “Your business isn’t welcome here,” I said, drawing myself up, though I came woefully short of his height. “We’d like to ask you to leave.” </p><p>      “I’m afraid I have no intention of leaving. But I can assure you I will not disturb anyone.”</p><p>      Soris grabbed my elbow, urging me to restraint, but I jerked away. “I will ask, one more time, politely. Please leave now.”</p><p>      The stranger tilted his head in bemusement. “She keeps her composure even when facing an unknown and armed human. A true gift, would you say, Valendrian?” he said over my shoulder.</p><p>      I turned quickly to find Valendrian was indeed there. He came around to stand beside the knight. “Indeed,” he said. “Though I believe the world has a much greater need for those who know when to hold their tongues.” The two men took hold of each other’s forearm cordially. “It is good to see you again, my old friend.”</p><p>      Soris and I both stared mouths agape for a moment. “Valendrian, you know this human?” Soris managed to ask.</p><p>      “May I present Duncan, head of the Grey Wardens in Ferelden?”</p><p>      I looked at Soris, mystified. I had never heard of the Grey Wardens, and by Soris’s blank expression, neither had he.</p><p>      “We protect the realms from the darkspawn,” the knight explained helpfully, seeing our confusion.</p><p>      “You mean the beasties that mothers tell their children will take them away in the night if they don’t eat their greens and stay in bed?” I asked acerbically.</p><p>      “The very ones. Unfortunately they will consume anything, not only children, and not only the naughty ones. Matters of righteous punishment are irrelevant to their kind.” He spoke with an earnest gravity, and seemed to look beyond us for a moment. His eyes were serene and yet behind that I saw something…haunting.</p><p>      Valendrian spread his hands and smiled. “Duncan, my old friend, this is a wedding, let us not speak of such monstrosities today.”</p><p>      “Unfortunately, Valendrian, those monstrosities are precisely what brings me here today. A Blight has begun. It will spread throughout Ferelden if it is not stopped.”</p><p>      “I see. Shall we discuss things later, after the weddings?”</p><p>      Duncan nodded solemnly.</p><p>      “I trust you can entertain yourself?”</p><p>      “Please don’t mind me, I will wait until you are ready.” He turned to Soris and I one last time. “Andraste’s many blessings to you both.” Then the man left to continue his slow perusal around the alienage.</p><p>      Valendrian turned to the two of us. “Soris, won’t you go and find Shianni and have her bring the Highever party down? The ceremony is about to start and I need a moment to speak to Sarabi.”</p><p>      “Of course, Elder,” Soris replied, before giving me a reassuring look and walking away to his task. I watched him go, avoiding Valendrian’s look.</p><p>      “Thank you, Valendrian, for saving me from that guardsman,” I said finally, trying not to grit my teeth. </p><p>      “I’m glad to see that some sense of humility has returned to you,” he said smoothly. </p><p>      I took a deep breath, focusing on not letting the waves I felt inside my head sway my whole body. When I felt still again, I was calm enough to smile at Valendrian. </p><p>      His face softened. “You look beautiful,” he said. “Would that your parents were here. They would have been very proud of you.” He clasped me by both shoulders and smiled. “Remember than today is a good day.”</p><p>      I did not reply. </p><p>      Three quarters of an hour later and the wedding parties had been gathered and everyone took their places on the raised platform in the Green. Most of the alienage had turned out and were coalescing around, relaxed and waiting for the proceedings to start. Soris stood to one side of the platform, holding hands with Aniya. To their left stood the priestess from the Chantry and Nelaros a few paces apart. Shianni was off to the side near where the Denerim elders were mingling with those from Highever.</p><p>      There was only one person missing. I climbed the short steps and I took my place beside Nelaros, avoiding his eyes, feeling absurdly shy.</p><p>      “You look beautiful,” he said to me. </p><p>      “Everyone seems to be saying that today,” I muttered.</p><p>      “Is it alright if I take your hand?” he asked unexpectedly. I stared at him in confusion, my brain working slowly. “I just think it might be easier...if we’re touching, I mean.”</p><p>      I realized that this was as difficult for him as it was for me. He was walking into an unknown future too, except he didn’t even have the reassurance that his would-be spouse was satisfied with the arrangement. For all I had been less than kind to him since we met, he did seem genuinely glad to be marrying me. Even though I couldn’t wholeheartedly return the sentiment, I did owe him <em> something </em> in return.</p><p>      I took his hand, lacing our fingers together. A feeling of warmth came over me and I felt once again woozy. </p><p>      Must be the alcohol, I thought to myself. Yet for a moment, looking into his blue eyes, I could almost believe that one day I could grow to be happy with Nelaros.</p><p>      Valendrian ascended the platform and the crowd began to converge more closely around while the murmuring tapered off. Valendrian looked serenely over the crowd then turned to us, the couples, and spoke the same words which were spoken at every wedding,</p><p>      “Friends and family, today we celebrate not only these joinings but also our bonds as kin. We are a free people, but it was not always so. Andraste, the Maker’s prophet, freed us from our bonds of slavery as our community grows, remember that our strength lies in our commitment to tradition...and to each other.”</p><p>      His gaze lingered on me a breath’s length longer at the end. I shuffled my feet, and went about smoothing my skirt. I could feel Nelaros look at me, but I kept my eyes solidly on the ground a few paces in front of me.</p><p>      “Don’t be afraid,” he whispered reassuringly.</p><p>      “I’m not,” I replied.</p><p>      The priestess stepped forward. “Thank you, Speaker. Now let us begin. In the name of the Maker, we are brought in this world, and in His name we say the Chant of Light...”</p><p>      A murmur rippling through the crowd was the first indication that something was wrong. I looked out and saw the reason. Three human men were pushing their way through the crowd, making their way to the front. If their clothes didn’t give away that they were wealthy—they each wore doeskin trousers and silk quilted doublets with enough lace around the cuffs to swaddle a child—the airs they gave off certainly did.</p><p>      “Oh, it’s a party, boys,” said the first man. He was a tall human, with auburn brown hair cut above the ears in the style most high-born humans preferred. He had beady, rat-like eyes. When he walked, he led with his brow, with the self-assurance of a great horned ox, never doubting that everything in its path would make way before it. He lifted one booted foot onto the platform and leaned against his knee. “And with so many lovely women in attendance.”</p><p>      One of the other men, the darker haired of the two, groped one of the on-lookers and jeered when she yelped.</p><p>      “My lords, please!” the priestess pleaded. “This is a wedding!”</p><p>      “A wedding is it?” The third, lighter hair man slurred. He had a thin nose sunk between two round cheeks. “Well we weren’t invited were we, my lord?”</p><p>      “No, we weren’t, now why is that, I wonder?” He climbed onto the stage and sauntered towards us couples, his gait making it obvious that he, too, had been indulging in drink. Nelaros let go of my hand but instinctively grabbed my arm and pulled me back slightly as the man approached. “I do so love weddings. Seeing such pretty young things grow up is always bittersweet, wouldn’t you agree?” </p><p>      He sauntered toward Soris and Aniya, but he looked only at her, seeming to not even notice when Soris stepped between them. </p><p>      “So young and vulnerable.” He reached for her face and chuckled when she shied away.</p><p>      “Lord Vaughan, please,” Valendrian said calmly. “You honor us with your presence, and as the son of the arl of Denerim you and your men are of course invited to join the festivities, please let us carry on with the ceremony. ”</p><p>      I felt the bottom of my stomach fall out. The arl of Denerim’s son. I had never had the displeasure of meeting Vaughan Urien, but one heard talk. If the talk was true, he was haughty and dismissive of most people below his rank, with a penchant for cruelness against those who could do nothing back. </p><p>      “The ceremony!” Vaughan Urien cried.  “Of course I seem to have entirely forgotten my manners. Drinks all around for the lovely bride and groom!”</p><p>      Everyone in the Green seemed stuck in their boots with apprehension. When no one stirred Vaughn’s face soured. </p><p>      “You.” He pointed at random into the crowd. “Go fetch us some ale, we need to make a toast!”</p><p>      The man with the thin nose shoved the person the arl’s son had pointed out. “You heard your lord! Go and fetch us a draught, you daft fool.” He half stumbled, half ran away to do as the lord bid.</p><p>      “We are having two weddings, actually,” Nelaros said defiantly. I belatedly clutched at his arm to stop him from speaking up, but it was too late. I knew a human on the search for blood when I saw one.</p><p>      Vaughan Urien turned back and surveyed Nelaros and I.</p><p>      “Because your people are uncouth, I’ll forgive your indiscretion,” he said, walking towards us. Nelaros attempted to push me further behind him, but I wasn’t about to hide. “Instead, I’ll educate you on how to address your betters. You repeat after me: ‘We’re having two weddings, <em> my lord </em>,’” he spoke slowly, emphasizing the honorific Nelaros had omitted.</p><p>      “We…we are having two weddings, milord,” Nelaros repeated, but the defiance had gone out his voice.</p><p>      “There’s a good whelp,” Vaughan said. “Won’t you introduce me to your blushing bride?” He walked around us, eyeing me as though he were evaluating a prized piece of livestock. I forced myself to keep breathing and to stand still, though I wanted nothing more than to shove him off. “You’re a pretty thing, even with the tattoos. They do say that the Dalish women make the best lovers.” He chuckled darkly to himself. “If you can tame them.”</p><p>      The man returned with three mugs of ale and hastily handed two of them to Vaughan’s lackeys, and climbed up the steps, nearly tripping over himself to hand the last to Vaughan himself. </p><p>      “To the brides and grooms!” the arl’s son shouted, to half-hearted echoes from the crowd. “May they be forever happy.” Vaughan down his mug in nearly one go.</p><p>      Valendrian stepped forward again as Vaughan drank, clearly attempting again to regain control.</p><p>      “Let us carry on then, my lords. Won’t you please take a place of honor—” his last words were cut off by a crash as Vaughan threw his mug over the heads of the crowd. It sailed a fair distance, smashing into pieces at the base of the vhenadahl.</p><p>      Then he gave a deranged laugh. “Not yet, Speaker, for I may have forgotten my manners, but you have forgotten yourselves too. Being a kindly lord, I have rectified my lapse, but you must do the same.”</p><p>      “My lord?” Valendrian asked.</p><p>      “Is not one of the oldest and most beloved of Ferelden traditions the bedding of the bride? The rite of which may fall to the lord, as her protection ultimately lies with her liege, not only her husband.”</p><p>      Shianni stepped forward, going red in the face. “That’s barbaric! And it hasn’t been a tradition in Ferelden for over a hundred years!”</p><p>      “Shut your mouth, whore!” Vaughan shouted suddenly, spittle flying from his lips.</p><p>      “Don’t worry, I won’t let him take you,” Nelaros whispered to me, pulling me close.</p><p>      Shianni stood her ground against the young lord, all the hopeless courage of a mouse fighting back against a cat. “You may be the lord’s son, but you have no right! This is <em> our </em>alienage.”</p><p>      Vaughan slapped her with the back of his hand, hard enough to send her stumbling. When she looked back up, I saw blood reddening her lips and teeth. She spat at his boots, dark spots of red blotting the fine leather.</p><p>      “Why you little—” he grabbed her, fingers curled into claws.</p><p>      “Leave her alone!” I shouted, lunging at his back. He grunted and released Shianni, only to elbow me in the jaw. I narrowly avoided biting down on my tongue, but the clack of my teeth made my head ring. He spun around, and in the moment before his fist collided with my stomach I took in how large he was. Wrestling with Soris was one thing, but fighting—really fighting—a grown human man more than twice my weight was quite another. He hit me in the gut and the breath went out of my body and I crumpled to the ground.</p><p>      “Get that whore!” Vaughan shouted. I was aware of many people moving at once around me, but I could do nothing but stare at the floor, gasping for air that would not come.</p><p>      “Sarabi! Sarabi, are you okay?” someone was saying to me. I managed to look up after several long seconds and saw Nelaros hovering over me. I nodded wordlessly, still not quite able to draw enough breath. I looked around and saw Valendrian standing helplessly alongside the rest of the elders, but most of the crowd had scattered and there was no sign of the priestess. I hoped she had run for help, but I doubted anyone would come. A few paces away, Soris held his arms protectively around Aniya who whimpered softly into his shirt. One of Vaughan’s men had Shianni by the hair. All three of them had blades drawn.</p><p>      “Take that one,” the arl’s son snarled, gesturing with his sword towards Aniya.</p><p>      The other man pulled at Aniya and shoved his dagger under Soris’s chin, who had no choice but to let her go. The man kicked with the heel of his boot at Soris’s knees, who was standing close enough to the edge of the platform that he fell off it, out of my sight. Aniya cried out tearfully but I could not make out what she said.</p><p>      Vaughan was walking toward me, sword in hand.</p><p>      “No, you can’t!” Nelaros protested, rising to his feet, as I struggled to regain mine.</p><p>      “I’ve about had enough of your insolence,” Vaughan said bringing his sword up—up through Nelaros’s belly…and out his back. Where the steel emerged it was red.</p><p>      A strangled scream clawed out of my throat.</p><p>      Nelaros’s eyes bulged, looking down at the sword in surprise and he made a strange sound, somewhere between a sigh and a groan. Blood sputtered out of his mouth and nose—and he fell.</p><p>      With a grunt of exasperation Vaughan planted a boot against his body and drew his sword out. Blood bloomed like a flower from the hole it left in my would-be husband, spilling onto the wooden floor.</p><p>      Somewhere, I was aware of more shouting, but I could not look away from the body lying before me. </p><p>      My mother had looked like that when I found her in the street after the riots subsided, a red flower of blood pooling from her belly. It had been a lance—the city watch had been all armed with batons and lances that day…and no baton was so precise. When I found her, I had thrown myself over her body, as though I might keep what life she had left from leaving her. I remembered only telling her again and again that she would be okay, that I wouldn’t leave her. One of the elders found me some time later. I screamed while they dragged me away, begging them to help her. When I looked back I saw her eyes were still open, staring sightlessly into nothingness. </p><p>      A fly crawled over her eye and I realized they were dull. I had stopped screaming then.</p><p>      Slowly the vision of my past subsided and I was in the present again, staring at a new horror. The distant shouting I had heard began to form words in my clouded mind. </p><p>      “…no need for further bloodshed!” </p><p>      This was a different voice I realized, but one that was familiar. I looked and saw the knight from before, the one Valendrian knew. He stood below the platform, his right hand gripping the pommel of the sword buckled behind his back; I barely saw the sliver of grey steel showing out of the scabbard.</p><p>      “This is no concern of yours, Warden.” Vaughan shouted back.</p><p>      “Leave the ladies, take your men and go in peace!”</p><p>      Vaughan barked a laugh. “These rats may dress up and play at being respectable, but don’t pretend these are ladies. They are vermin, and they are mine to do with as I please! Need I remind you that your presence here is at the pleasure of my father the arl, and I can have you thrown out of this city in an instant, or even barred from all of Ferelden again.”</p><p>      For a moment the knight said nothing. He seemed entirely unperturbed by the threat, and I was certain that whatever Vaughan said, that he was no match for the knight at hand-to-hand combat. I prepared myself to run once the fighting started.</p><p>      Instead, Duncan sheathed his sword with a definitive slap. “As you say…my lord,” he said to my shock and horror. The bastard even bowed slightly at the waist, and took a step back.</p><p>      Vaughan nodded with satisfaction and went to wipe his blade on Nelaros’s tunic. Then he straightened and sheathed it. “Now, where were we? Ah yes.” He grabbed me by the arm, yanking me to my feet. “We were about to go somewhere more private.”</p><p>      As I was hauled away, I caught a glimpse of Soris. He was on his feet, I saw with relief, though he was doubled over, reaching a hand down to his knee where he had been kicked. He was still alive…that was enough. Valendrian watched on, his face a mixture of despair and horror. Duncan the Grey Warden did nothing as Aniya, Shianni, and I were half-dragged past him. His face might as well have been carved of stone.</p><p>      “Help us!” I cried. “You bloody fucking coward, help us!”</p><p>      Vaughan jerked my arm. “Quiet.”</p><p>      They took us down a side alley, where the one who still held Shianni by the hair kicked open a store room. Stacked barrels lined two of the walls and canvas sacks of grain meal were piled against the third. Rats skittered away from the light, merging into the shadows like water drops joining with a rain puddle.</p><p>      “Not the venue I prefer for entertaining, but it will do,” Vaughan hissed in my ear. “Let’s see what Dalish cunt feels like.”</p><p>      I had been afraid many times in my life. I thought back to when I was a child and human boys cornered me in the alley and pummeled me with rocks. I had been afraid then. There were the riots, the only time I remember seeing the alienage burn, and I had been afraid then. When I found my mother lying dead in the streets, I had been afraid then. When I stayed up for days nursing my father as the fever ravaged his body and his life slipped away while I could do nothing to stop it, I had been afraid then.</p><p>      Right now I wasn’t afraid. I had no thought but for how we could escape from this. But as the arl’s son continued to paw and grope me, I realized I was stunningly short of options.</p><p>      “You can take your turns with the mouthy bitch, but the brides are mine.”</p><p>      The other two began to squabble over who would get the first turn and the one who held Aniya threw her cruelly to the ground. She crawled away and curled herself into a ball with her back to the barrels, heaving muffled sobs. I met Shianni’s glance for a second before her attackers blocked my view. Her face was as white as fresh snow. Her jaw was clamped shut, eyes narrowed, as though she was angry. As Aniya continued to sob quietly in the corner, I thought dully how shock affects people differently. After that I couldn’t see either woman.</p><p>      The arl’s son was clawing at the laces at the front of my dress as I struggled to hide myself. His face was close to my neck and he breathed in deeply, as though savoring some aroma. I twisted away from him and he bared his teeth in a horrible grimace.</p><p>      “Be still,” he growled and slapped me across the face, sending my head spinning. Through watering eyes I caught a glimpse of his dagger hanging on the right side of his belt. I barely had time to register that before his mouth was on mine, hungry and consuming. His tongue burst into my mouth and he tasted of sour drink. His perfume was overwhelming. I kicked against the fingers that lifted my skirts and clawed against my thighs, prying them apart like a burrowing animal. He was everywhere. I could feel nothing that wasn’t him.</p><p>      In a split second his weight disappeared and I was able to suck in a breath again. He loomed over me, leering as he undid the laces of his trousers. Again, my eyes glanced down to the dagger at his belt. When he came down on me again the hilt would be close enough to reach. I would have to be fast, I thought to myself…would I be able to do it? I heard Shianni cry out to raucous laughter and rhythmic grunting, and I decided that yes, yes I could.</p><p>      “Sorry about your groom, love, but he was so very <em> tiresome </em> . Doesn’t mean you shouldn’t enjoy the pleasures of marriage rites, regardless. I shall be happy to... <em> fill in </em>, as it were, as your husband would have.” Having freed his appendage, he settled himself down to his task. I redoubled my struggling efforts against him as he lifted my skirts again, hoping he would be intent enough on his goal not to notice as I felt for his dagger. </p><p><em>       Pull it up out of the scabbard and down into his back </em>, I rehearsed to myself. My fingers touched the hilt as he pressed his pelvis to me, attempting to force an entrance, and I knew it had to be now.</p><p>      Quick as a snake, I whipped my right arm around his neck and in the same moment, clamped my legs around his waist, holding him as close as I could. Wasting no time, I grabbed a hold of the hilt with my left hand and pulled it up. It stuck in the scabbard for a heart-stopping moment, the angle of the draw being more awkward than I had anticipated. He had a moment to give half a grunt in surprise before I freed the knife fully and plunged it tip down. It hit something solid, and my fingers almost dropped the knife as the shock of impact reverberated up to my shoulder. </p><p>      A rib, I thought disjointedly. I must have hit a rib. His surprise turned into outrage, as he twisted to get away. I hung on for my life and brought my arm up and then down again, lower this time, hoping to hit the fleshy small of his back. This time the knife stuck in but it did not go far—flesh covered with padded clothing was more difficult to puncture than I had expected. Again and again I brought the knife down, wild with fury.</p><p>      It was then that I heard the other men’s exhortations had turned into alarm. I had to be faster now than ever. Vaughan had slid half off of me by then in his attempts to get away, so when he finally ceased to move I struggled the rest of the way out from under his weight. One of the other men was already nearly on me, his own sword drawn. I brought the knife up reflexively and it plunged into his upper thigh near his groin. Blood spurted out in waves and he howled, falling as he clutched at the wound. I stabbed at him again, this time I didn’t miss when I aimed for his manhood. The sounds he emitted were unlike any animal I had ever heard.</p><p>      I looked up and saw Shianni had seized the opportunity—when the third man turned away from her to see the commotion she jumped onto his back, digging her nails into his neck. His mouth formed a silent O as he squirmed to buck her off.</p><p>      I tried to raise the knife again, intending to stick this one like the others, but it was no longer in my hand.</p><p>      I had dropped it—but where? Everywhere I looked I saw nothing but red.  Distantly, it occurred to me that my fingers didn’t seem to be working properly.</p><p>      Shianni continued to strangle the last man like a feral cat with her claws stuck into a writhing snake. The man fell back, slamming her into the wall but it did not shake her. He crashed backward again, but with decidedly less force. His trousers around his ankles hindered him greatly; his bloodied tool swung grotesquely with each lurch he gave. His face was rapidly turning purple.</p><p>      He sank to his knees and his upper half pitched forward and his face collided into the flagstones with a dull slap. Shianni shrieked with rage, pulling his head up by the neck and slamming it down again. And again, and again, again, again. And still she screamed.</p><p>      “Shianni..” I said softly, but she didn’t hear. “Shianni, stop. That’s enough.” I put my hand on her shoulder and she slowed and went silent, the echoes of her screams mixing with the gurgles of dying men and bawling sounds of crying.</p><p>      Her skirts were still stuck up around her waist, revealing her blood-smeared thighs. She looked down at the man with deadened eyes.</p><p>      “Shianni, are you hurt?” I asked stupidly. “Can you stand?” I clarified. She nodded silently, and I helped her to her feet. I tried to look anywhere but at the ruined head of the man on the ground. Aniya was still in the corner she had retreated to, her eyes pressed tight shut as she half-sobbed the Chant of Light.</p><p>      I went over to her and tugged at her sleeve. “We have to go.” </p><p>      She turned away and shook me off with a cry, trying vainly to retreat further into the shed, begging for the Maker to deliver us. </p><p>      “The Maker isn’t here,” I said roughly, dragging her up. She refused to open her eyes and only shook her head wildly, fists held loosely at her chin.</p><p>      “I have to carry her,” I said to Shianni. “Can you walk on your own?”</p><p>      “I can,” she breathed almost soundless. I looked at her ragged form, and saw there was a bruise forming at her mouth. Her clothes were mostly intact, only a few minor tears from the struggle, but at least she was covered again. With a suppressed cry, I threw my free arm around her neck and kissed her forehead; it was an apology as much as a promise. When I drew back I saw that my lips had left a bloodied mark on her skin. I tried belatedly to wipe it away with the cuff of my sleeve, but it, too, was covered in blood. My blood? Their blood? I didn’t know.</p><p>      I looked down at myself, and saw the lacing at the front of my dress had come loose, revealing my blood-spattered breasts. With one hand, while I continued to support Aniya with the other, I attempted to do up the laces, but my fingers refused to obey my commands. </p><p>      “Sarabi, your arm…” Shianni said softly. The man I had stabbed in the groin had slashed at me before he fell. I hadn’t even felt the blade when it cut me. Blood dripped freely down off my elbow to the ground.</p><p>      Shianni’s senses seemed to be returning to her—and just in time, as I felt myself slipping into shock. She bent down to tear a strip off her hem and wrapped it tightly around my arm, then set the lacing on my bodice right.</p><p>      “Let’s go,” she said when she was satisfied. She removed the bolt from the storeroom door and pulled it open. The last thing I remember was stepping into the blinding light, half-carrying Aniya, with Shianni directly behind. Cries and shouts reverberated around me until they melded together into a high-pitched ringing. Then the light consumed everything before blackness obliterated it all.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. A Choice</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>When I came to, I was in an unfamiliar apartment; the spare furnishings and peeling plaster on the walls made it a safe bet I was still in the alienage. I felt dizzy but tried to sit up anyway. When I moved I felt pain like small pin pricks pulling along my right arm. I looked and saw the length of my arm was bandaged with cloth blotted in red down a line where I vaguely remembered being cut. That brought the rest of my memories, like a line of squirming fish pulled out of a murky river.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Shianni?” I groaned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Sarabi, you’re awake!” Soris was suddenly there. “Thank the Maker, they said you would wake up soon, and told me to stay and watch you while they decided what to do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Soris, what happened? Where’s Shianni and Aniya?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “They’re safe, Shianni is resting, Aniya is with the Highever elders.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Shianni…are you sure she’s okay? I want to see her, Soris, take me to her.” I tried to rise, but the dizziness sent me reeling back. That frustrated me. I didn't remember getting </span>
  <em>
    <span>this </span>
  </em>
  <span>drunk...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Hey, hey, take it easy.” Soris soothed me, but I could hear the nervousness in his voice.</span>
</p><p><span>      “She needs help,” I insisted. “They…they hurt</span> <span>her, Soris.”</span></p><p>
  <span>      “I know,” he said sadly. “She told us what happened. After they took you, no one knew what to do. Duncan said he couldn’t interfere… something about being neutral. And after they killed Nelaros, no one was willing to go against them. But…but the </span>
  <em>
    <span>screams</span>
  </em>
  <span>, it was a nightmare to listen and do </span>
  <em>
    <span>nothing. </span>
  </em>
  <span>I had just about decided I was going in after you, weapon or no, when the door opened and you came out with Aniya and Shianni. You were covered in blood and then you just collapsed. Shianni told us you were cut. You lost a lot of blood, but that warden Duncan stitched you up. He says you’ll recover.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “That fucking pox-rotted bastard,” I said, letting my head fall back and my eyes close. “I hope he bleeds for this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Vaughan is dead, along with his friends. They had already bled out by the time someone went in to see what had happened.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Not </span>
  <em>
    <span>them</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” I hissed impatiently, opening my eyes with intensity. “Duncan. That slimy back-stabber, he might as well have raped Shianni himself. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He’s </span>
  </em>
  <span>the reason they took us, Soris! He all but laid out the carpet for them to take us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      The door opened and in walked Valendrian, followed by the subject of my denunciations himself: Duncan. Fear and loathing shot through me. I would have jumped up and strangled him myself if my body would have obeyed my commands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Ah, good you’re awake,” Valendrian said. “We have a lot to discuss.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I watched the warden like the finch watches the hawk as he went to stand with his back against the far wall. He returned my gaze impassively and my lips curled away from my teeth in disgust.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Valendrian, shouldn’t we let her rest?” Soris protested. “She’s had a—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I’m afraid we don’t have the time. It won’t be long before the arl’s estate sends the city guard out looking for his son. Sarabi, I know this is difficult for you, but you need to tell us what happened in that storeroom.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I turned my glare to Valendrian. “Where is Shianni?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Shianni is resting, child,” Valendrian replied patiently.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “And what is </span>
  <em>
    <span>he</span>
  </em>
  <span> doing here?” I jerked my head at Duncan.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Duncan is my friend and I trust his judgement. We are in dire need of it now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I crossed my arms in front of my body, pretending not to wince as pain tore at my injury. “I’m not saying anything until I see Shianni.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Valendrian sighed, muttering something about “willful, foolish girl,” but turned his head towards Soris. “Soris, won’t you please get Shianni? She is resting in the apartment just down the hall.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Of course, Speaker.” Soris hurried out of the room, and I continued to glare at the two men. A minute later he returned and all the tension went out of me when I saw Shianni follow him in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      She ran and threw her arms around me, sobs shaking her body and mine in turn. I clutched her as closely as I could manage, paying no heed to my pain. I put my hand to her face and stroked her hair when we parted. What could I say? I found I didn’t have the words.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “We’re safe,” I said finally.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Thanks to you,” she sniffed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I’m sorry I wasn’t fast enough…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Valendrian cleared his throat. “I know you have both been through a horrific torment, but we must discuss this. Shianni has told us her recollection, but it is, by her admission rather…incomplete… and Aniya can tell us nothing at all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Shianni sat beside me while I began to recount what happened. I started and stopped several times, finding myself unable to recall some details that returned to me later. The resulting narrative was undoubtedly hard to follow, but Valendrian nodded along patiently. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I—I couldn’t just let them get away with it,” I said finally.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Valendrian sighed and began to pace across the small room. “What do you suggest, Duncan?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “The arl will not take the death of his son lightly,” the warden answered. “The city watch will be here soon. They will raze the alienage to the ground when they find the bodies, if they don’t do so in the process of looking.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      The bastard spoke with no inkling of regret or apprehension for the events he described, only a cold detachment. He seemed to spare no thought for the fact that it was his own inaction that had brought all of this upon us. The resentment had already been broiling inside me from the moment he stepped into the room, and I could not stop the venom-coated words that spilled from my mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Oh no? And here I expected the arl would be grateful for us ridding him of such a vile offspring.” I scowled at Duncan with all the hate I could conjure. “Then again, shemlen seem to have a funny idea of what constitutes honor.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      The knight looked back coolly, his brow subtly arched. Valendrian, by contrast, glared at me with scathing disapproval.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I will gather the other elders,” he said. “There is much to discuss. Soris, you should attend to your bride. As for you two…” he looked to Shianni and me. “You should be a part of this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      The Council gathered quickly; there were about six members, including Valendrian, and the room barely fit everyone. Valendrian quickly relayed my recounting of the events to the others, and the discussion  began without further preamble.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “We can hide the bodies,” Dyulin suggested, stroking his chin. “Throw them in the river, and it will look like cutthroats, or a robbery gone wrong.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Belath’s beaded braids clinked together as she shook her head emphatically. “There was too much blood. Attempting to conceal the crime will only make the situation worse.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Raena spoke up. “We could set fire to the store room to dispose of that evidence. I would hate to lose the grain stores, but it would be suspicious if they were removed first.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      It went back and forth like this for some time, propositions and counters being levied against one another. Shianni and I said little, and no one asked for our input. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      After several long minutes Valendrian stepped forward. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Friends, the hour is growing short and I fear we must decide now. I will go personally to the arl’s estate,” he declared. “As Speaker, I can request an audience during which I will report what has happened. Perhaps I will be afforded the chance to explain all in good faith.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Half the people in the room responded to this with fervent rebuttal. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “It may stem the arl’s anger,” Varith said loudly. “But Valendrian, you cannot believe that retribution will be withheld. The arl will not suffer the elf that murdered his son to live.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Several voices overlapped each other with renewed vehemence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “We can say we don’t know what happened,” someone shouted about the rest. “We can tell them that whoever did it fled the city.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      A small bud of hope grew inside me. Suddenly I could see the way out. Valendrian and the elders couldn’t argue if I wanted to flee Denerim now. Once I was in the Brecilian forest the Dalish would protect me if anyone ever came to find me. Shianni, Aniya, and Soris could hide in plain sight in the alienage. No one need know that they had been involved. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      But even as this plan formed in my mind, what I knew about the nature of humans suffocated that little bud of hope before it could blossom into anything more. The nobles would not rest until they had their scapegoat. There had been too many witnesses to say that Shianni and Aniya hadn’t been involved, and even if the secret was kept for a time, the shemlen would terrorize every elf in the city until they were satisfied. Dozens would be hurt or killed in our wake and the alienage would burn again. There was only one way to keep everyone safe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I stood up slowly, and the arguing voices around me died. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I will turn myself in. If they have me in prison then maybe they’ll leave everyone in the alienage alone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Sarabi, no,” Shianni whispered, tugging at my good arm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “It’s the only way.” I said stolidly to the room. “They will have their scapegoat and the alienage may be spared the worst.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      The Grey Warden had been silent for most of the discussion, only shaking his head at intervals, but he spoke now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “While I admire your courage, I doubt the city guard will believe that a lone elf woman managed to kill three armed human men.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I wanted very much to throw something at his head. I’d show him what I could and could not manage. Only my lingering dizziness and the painful ache in my injured arm kept me still. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “They’ll believe me when I turn up covered in blood and tell them where they can find the bodies and how each of them died.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      The elders each seemed to turn my proposal in their heads. Half of them offered small words of acquiescence, while the others, expressed their doubts about simply handing me over at the mercy of the guards. Though some of their hesitation seemed to stem more from the probability that my confession would do little to mitigate the retribution, and less from concerns over my own fate. Valendrian was the only one stalwartly against my proposition.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “They will have you executed,” Shianni whispered to me while the elders discussed. “You can’t! If you go, I’m going with you!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “No.” I whispered back, emphatically. “You’ve been through enough, and you have much more to live for than I do. What would your mama and the little ones do without you? There’s no one for me to take care of. If I can do one thing right today it will be this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      She hugged me fiercely and began to cry again. “It’s not </span>
  <em>
    <span>fair</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Someday things will be different for us,” she promised against all hope. “Someday our people will find justice.” She almost sounded like she believed it. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>      Someday is not today, cousin</span>
  </em>
  <span>, is what I wanted to say, but I could not bring myself to. I knew that I would not live to see the day that elves were truly freed. I likely would not even see the sun rise tomorrow. I felt very calm, knowing I had come to this decision, regardless of what the Council chose to do.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      After several long minutes, the elders seemed to coalesce around a decision.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Valendrian spoke directly to me, his leathery face the most unhappy I had ever seen. “If you expect they will reward your confession with mercy, you’ll find that they will spare you from none of their wrath.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “No, I don’t expect they will,” I replied calmly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      He nodded slowly. “Then we have decided. May your bravery spare us the worst. We will remember you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      The elders each cupped my face in their hands in turn, bestowing their kindest words and blessings, but I barely heard them. I only stared at the human knight still standing silently in the corner, his gloved hand stroking his black beard, as he met my stare with a perfectly unfathomable expression.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I was still garbed in my wedding dress, blotched with half-dried blood. I felt guilty that I had ruined such a fine garment. It must have been very expensive. The fabric was stiff and wrinkled where the blood had begun to dry red-black, and cold vermillion where it was still damp.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Soris returned but said little as he embraced me with tears in his eyes. Aniya did not come, but I was not offended. I was surrounded by enough tears as it was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I insisted that I must walk alone, or any companion may be implicated in my guilt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      And it was so that I crossed the vacant bridge out the greater gate. Had it really only been yesterday that I had watched the sun setting on this very bridge? I was deliberate with each step, feeling strangely separate from my body. I forced myself to concentrate on the feel of the ground, on the cool air going in and out of my lungs, so that the turmoil that I had been keeping locked away in the back of my mind would be subdued just a little bit longer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      The streets beyond the alienage were crowded, but I barely registered as people shied away from me or hissed threateningly. I must truly look a horror, all soaked in blood. I walked directly up to the first guardsman I saw, who came towards me with a look of anger and fear. I spoke quickly before he opened his mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “My name is Sarabi Tabris, and I am giving myself in for the murder of the arl’s son, Vaughan Urien.”</span>
</p><p><span>*           </span> <span>*           </span> <span>*</span></p><p>
  <span>The dungeons were damp and cool. Sconces hung at intervals on the walls, casting the glistening stones in shimmers of orange. Rats slinked between the shadows, coming to bite my toes if I wasn’t careful to swat them away. The jailers had taken my shoes when they threw me in here, but left me in the ruin of my dress. At first I had been grateful—the very thought of being stripped naked nearly unleashed the barely-contained chaos in my head. But I realized now it had not been a kindness or even oversight. The smell of blood attracted the rats.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      My ribs ached where heavy fists had punched me. I had not struggled, but the guards had needed little excuse to abuse me. A fresh cut split my lower lip, and I could feel the pulse of blood in the hollow under my left eye. But as I made inventory of my injuries, old and new, I felt like I had gotten off easy, all things considered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I breathed in carefully, feeling thoroughly battered, but there was no sharp grating of sheared bone in my ribs. Elven bones were resilient, being lighter and more flexible, able to endure forces that would shatter human bone. Still, such injuries were possible. Gingerly, I ran my fingertips along the swollen socket of my eye, feeling for fissures, and found the bone was still smooth below the swelling. My ears and fingers were all still attached, and I could move around without great difficulty. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      There were other prisoners down here as well, though luckily I shared my cell only with the rats. Some of the inmates muttered to themselves, pacing maniacally in their cells, while others sat or lay inertly. None spoke to me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      There were no windows, so the passage time was all but impossible to tell. Still, I estimated it could not have been more than three or four hours before the heavy clank of the door down the hall echoed through the corridor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I was already familiar with the treads of the jailors, but these footsteps sounded strangely light on the flagstones. I pressed myself close to the bars and leaned my head, peeking down the hall with what little vantage I had.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      The Grey Warden strode down the corridor, glancing in each of the cells as he walked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I said nothing. When he saw me finally he came to stand in front of me, arms crossed, feet shoulder-width apart. He did not have his great sword, or any other weapon, I noticed. He said nothing, only surveyed me with that cool expression I already knew too well. I met him stare for stare.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Are you waiting for me to offer you tea?” I asked bitterly. “Because I’m sad to say that…” I raised my hands palms up, “...fresh out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “You’ve caused quite the stir, young one. I admit, I did not expect to be witness to so much trouble on the very day I visit Denerim.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “What? All this?” I gestured to the cell bars. “No, I thought I’d just have a little break from the trouble in the alienage. It’s terribly quiet down here, you see. Lot’s of time to think.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      He did not reply and the silence returned. I didn’t want to be the first to break it again, but I had to ask,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “What’s happened since my arrest?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Guards raided the alienage shortly after you turned yourself in, searching for weapons and your accomplices. You told them where the bodies would be found, of course. Yet, as I said, they were not so quick to believe that a single elf girl could have killed three trained human men on her own. However, they found nothing to suggest you did not act alone. News of the murder of the arl’s son has already consumed all other gossip in the city, and likely will continue to do so for years to come. Many are calling for a culling of the alienage, but with the guilty party safely locked up, most prominent figures, including the arl himself, have deemed it unnecessary. You saved many lives by giving yourself up so readily.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I leaned against the bars again in relief. “I suppose the idea that I was defending myself is not mentioned?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “The arl is powerful; any notion that his son acted in anything but an entirely chivalrous manner before he was attacked by a deranged elf-girl is dismissed out of hand. Nevertheless, rumors persist and people talk. Many doubt the sincerity of the official version of events but who would stick their necks out to defend a murderer?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I shrugged, looking down at the flagstones below my feet. “I suppose it matters little now, does it? I’m dead either way.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Perhaps.” The tone of his voice made me look up. “There is one way I could secure your release.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      My head snapped up, hope and suspicion competing in my mind. “Just like that? And they would just let me go?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “There would be a price of course.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Of course there would,” I muttered, more to myself than him. I nodded slowly and folded my arms over my chest, in a gesture of exaggerated understanding. I knew what his offer would be of course. Shemlen are all the same. He would want what I had denied the arl’s son. He would release me, and in return I would have to make free of my body to him. Of course. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Let him make his offer, I thought, I’m here for a reason—I’d rather die.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “The Grey Wardens can exercise the Rite of Conscript to release any prisoner or person of bondage, with the condition that they join our ranks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I blinked. “I don’t understand…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I thought the implications were quite clear,” he replied evenly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I shook my head, coming to grips with myself. “You’re saying…you’ll get me out of here, but I have to become one of you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      He nodded. “Your crimes will be stricken from the records and your debts paid in full, so you need not worry about anyone coming to look for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      No, I thought, this was a trick, it must be. It was too easy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Do they even let elves be Grey Wardens? Or am I to be a servant? One to clean your chamber pot and warm your bed?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      His look did not change, but his mouth twitched at the corner—I had no idea if it was in amusement or disgust.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Grey Wardens come from every race and creed. Elves, humans, dwarves..mages and knights, beggars and kings, have all joined Grey Wardens. All are equal under our banner, no matter what life came before.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Then why have I never heard of you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “We are few now. Peace for the last four centuries has made many complacent, but we remain ever vigilant.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Peace?” I asked in disbelief, thinking of all the wars that had been fought in the last four hundred years between the nations of the world. “Is that what you call it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “The squabbles between the kingdoms and its people are of little consequence, when the darkspawn will consume all without discrimination. The choice is yours. But I warn you: The path of the Grey Wardens is not one to be taken lightly. The road will be long and hard, physically and mentally. You will train day and night until your hands are raw and your mind is weary. The penalty for desertion is death. And when you meet the darkspawn on the battlefield you may yet die a death far worse than any executioner could dream.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “You really know how to sell an offer, don’t you?” I asked ruefully.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Have you made your decision? I do not know how much time I can offer for you to consider.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I pursed my lips, thinking it over. I still didn’t trust that there wasn’t some trick afoot. Yet if he would get me out of there, I was sure I could deal with anything that came after.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I met his eyes again. “I suppose it’s a fair sight better than dying.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Then you have decided?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Yes.” I said. “I’ll join you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Good. I will speak to the jailer and arrange your release.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I’ll just wait here, then,” I said sardonically as he walked back up the corridor. The door latch clanked metal on metal, followed by the painful creak of the rusted hinges. I could hear voices coming from the other side of the still-opened dungeon door, but they were too far to understand most of the words. I recognized Duncan’s as one of them. They seemed to be arguing about my release. Duncan’s voice was steady but the other sounded obstinate. For a moment I wondered whether my rescuer had been perhaps too overconfident in his authority to release any prisoner he chose. More voices joined in, and I gathered that more people of higher authority were being involved. The argument carried on for some time, but eventually, the jailer came down the corridor, ring of key in his hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “It’s your lucky day, knife-ears,” he growled as the latch opened and the door opened.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “That it is,” I agreed, not hesitating to step through the threshold.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      We rejoined Duncan at the top of the hallway where several guards and a few well dressed men were glaring at Duncan. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Just get this rabbit out of this city immediately,” one of the magistrates said in exasperation. “Rite of Conscript or no, she’s a danger to everyone and we won’t have her. If she’s seen in Denerim again, there might be an accident. Maybe she attacks one of the guards, and then we’d have to defend ourselves. Or maybe she just falls in the river.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Duncan smiled at the magistrate. “There is no need, my good man, we are leaving the city immediately. Come, girl.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I followed him out the dungeons and into the fine reception halls of the Fort. The decor was simple, but compared the rank of the dungeons it seemed splendid to me. Duncan paused a moment to recover his weapons which had been checked before entering the dungeon. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Guards opened the outside door as we approached. As I stepped out, the view made me catch my breath. Fort Drakon was the highest point of the city, and I had never seen Denerim from this vantage before. It almost looked almost...beautiful. Duncan grunted at me to keep up and I hurried along after him. He spoke briefly to the steward of stables who bowed and hurried off, returning quickly with two horses led by the reins in either hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      One was the biggest animal I had ever seen. It was blacker than ink with shoulders several inches higher than the top of my head. The other was a significantly smaller animal, its withers being at my eye-level, but it still seemed like a giant to me. The only equines I had been near before were shaggy cart ponies, which could barely even be counted as the same species as the beasts before me now. The smaller horse was of a rich brown color with darkened extremities, all sleekness and grace, with none of the stocky roundness of a pony. This horse was not built for tasks so lowly as hauling wares. Both this one and the black giant beside it walked with an air I was familiar with: one that displayed the pride and power that could only be achieved by virtue of good breeding. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Have you ridden before, girl?” Duncan asked me. I shook my head. “You’ll learn quickly then.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      He handed me a riding cloak, which I donned. He then lifted me by the lower leg and more or less tossed me into the saddle of the brown horse. A moment later he pulled himself just as easily onto the black giant. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Heels for speed, reins for steering and slowing, but he should follow without much input from you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I looked down at the neck, a part of my mind observing how strange a horse looked from atop one—all mane and ears. Realizing I was clutching the saddle pommel, I hastily picked up the reins, feeling thoroughly unsure of myself. Duncan steered his horse as though the two had become one creature and began a brisk trot, hoofbeats ringing on the cobblestones. As he had promised, my mount seemed to follow automatically. This was just as well, as any capacity I had to steer or otherwise direct its movements disappeared as soon as it picked up the bouncing gait. At that point, I could focus on nothing but staying on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      And it was so that I left Denerim, my only home, bouncing wildly atop a horse, in the company of a human knight who had just inexplicably saved my life. I barely even had a thought to look back as we rode out the city gates.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      At first the area outside the city walls was not so different as inside, with houses still packed closely together.  But as we rode on they seemed to drift farther apart. Larger gardens punctuated each building we passed, until the gardens gave way to fields and groves. I had no idea there was so much space in the world.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      At one point I glanced over my shoulder and there was Denerim. By then we had ridden many miles out, and the distance washed away all the details. The city looked like a blanket of stone and brick laid across the distant hill. It seemed so strangely small…there was so much more horizon that it did not touch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      My desire to simply stop and absorb this new world was overwhelming, but my thoughts were interrupted constantly by the jolting animal beneath me. Duncan kept up a steady trot until we were outside the gates. After that he slowed the horses to a brisk walk, but I still jostled in the saddle incessantly. My hands and knees began to chafe before long; no matter how I tried to sit I could not find a comfortable position and I feared falling from the horse with each step. Worse, was that the impact of its hooves ached in my ribs, embedding the bruises deeper and deeper until I could barely breathe. Yet I dared not mention my discomfort or desire to rest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Luckily, on three occasions he did stop abruptly. Each time Duncan would dismount and, in the same motion, unsling his bow and quiver carried alongside the saddle packs, and stalk off into the groves between fields, telling me not to move. As if I could have made the horse move if I wanted to. After a few minutes he would return with a squirrel shot through the eye and slung by the neck on a leather cord. These stops were a welcome respite from the riding, but each time we went underway again my blisters and bruises seemed even more acute than before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      The moons that night were new, and eventually the darkness became complete. Despite his inferior human eyesight, the knight did not seem to struggle to find the path as the trees began to grow denser. Giant shadowy pillars pressed in around me. Even the vhenadahl, which stood as large as any building in the alienage, seemed small in comparison to these.  Perhaps it was only because there were so many.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “We will rest here tonight,” he announced finally, dismounting from his horse. He immediately came to lift me off my mount and set me on the ground, saving me the shame of asking for his help. Weariness clung to me like a second skin. I was so stiff I could barely unfurl my fingers, let alone manage the complicated motion of swinging my leg over the horse and stepping down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      He instructed me to gather dry sticks for a fire, which I did without comment, though my entire body desired nothing more than to collapse into a puddle. I struggled to walk, not only because of my fatigue, but because the feel of the forest floor was so unfamiliar. I had never walked on a surface which was not solid wood or stone. The need to step around and through bramble, and the soft give of the dirt with each step was unsettling. But I completed my task, while my companion untacked the horses and removed their saddlebags, before gutting and skinning the squirrels he had collected along our journey. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Squirrels, I observed absently, looked much like rats when they were skinned. A fire was made and the knight skewered each of the naked carcasses, and set them to spit over the fire which began to crackle before long, illuminating the small area with a warm orange glow. It was colder out here than it was in the city and I wrapped my cloak tighter around, sitting as close to the fire as I could. Though the rock I sat upon was solid, to my dismay I could still feel echoes of the horse’s motion beneath me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      The dripping fat from the roasting meat sizzled upon the embers and the crickets chirped in a soft cacophony around us. I had not eaten since the morning and I felt faint from hunger and blood loss, a feeling deepened by the smell of cooking meat. When they were cooked through, I snatched a skewer off the spit and devoured it, never minding the fat dripping down my hands and chin. The knight, who was apparently less famished than me, rummaged through a saddlebag as I ate, eventually coming out with a bundle of folded cloth which he set down next to me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “There’s shoes and clothes that are rather less bloodstained than what you have. I daresay you may be more comfortable in them than your wedding dress. I did not have time to gather much else you may have desired—I was lucky enough to find that horse for you on such short notice. In any case, we will be able to acquire anything you may need once we reach our destination.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I said nothing in response, but stared at the offered garments, my meal half-forgotten in my hands. I had all but forgotten that I still wore the wedding dress.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>      Rather less bloodstained</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he had said.</span>
</p><p><span>      The knight lifted one of the skewers from the fire, and began to eat himself. I looked down at my own meal and saw the skewer sticking up through the pelvis of the charred animal, through the core body cavity, and out the mouth.</span> <span>The hands and feet had been removed so there were only little nubs left. I had devoured the meat so it was just sinew and skeleton.</span></p><p>
  <em>
    <span>      Rather less bloodstained.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Why didn’t you stop it?” I asked dully.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “You’ll have to be more specific, girl.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “You know what I mean,” I hissed. “You just stood there as that diamond-studded lunatic took us. You were armed, you could have stopped him, and you didn’t. They…they…</span>
  <em>
    <span>killed </span>
  </em>
  <span>Nelaros, and they </span>
  <em>
    <span>raped </span>
  </em>
  <span>Shianni. They would have killed all of us, if…if…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      From the very start of that day I had taken every inconvenient emotion—the ones that I had not the time or energy to feel—and carefully folded them each in a handkerchief and tucked them away in a pocket in the back of my mind. If I had felt them at the time they manifested, they would have crippled me, and I wouldn’t have been able to go on. And I </span>
  <em>
    <span>had </span>
  </em>
  <span>to go on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Now that little pocket of mind was broiling over with the intensity of a tempest, even as the rest of my mind became very still and frightened, knowing that now I was going to have to feel everything all at once.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “If you hadn’t defended yourself?” Duncan guessed at my unfinished sentence. “But you did—and did well.” He spoke in between bites, barely even glancing my way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      My mouth worked for a second, but words failed to form out of the outrage. “That’s all you have to say?” I managed to say.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “You’ll remember that I am a Grey Warden. We depend on the grace of the nobility to operate in any realm. I could not challenge the arl’s son without endangering the entire mission I had come to fulfill. Had I drawn my weapon, Urien </span>
  <em>
    <span>may</span>
  </em>
  <span> have stood down…or he may not have. Either outcome would result in myself and likely the entire Grey Warden company I command being expelled from Ferelden, when we’ve only recently been allowed to return to the realm. And a Blight is coming.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “So you would let him torture us to protect your mission? I thought you protected people?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “The choice of when to stay your blade, and when to fight is rarely an easy one, child.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Stop calling me a child!” I shouted, standing to my feet. “I’m not some whelp still wet behind the ears. I know the way the world works and I know injustice when I see it! You don’t fight for Ferelden, you fight for yourself! You’re a coward and that’s why you refused to help us. And now Nelaros is dead because of it and Shianni will never be the same.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I will not deny you your anger, for I certainly deserve it. But I will not lie to you nor mince words.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I had gone near blind with fury. I clenched my hands into fists and for a moment decided I would use them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Then I realized Duncan had not moved at all. He sat at ease still, resting his forearm against one knee holding the skewer one-handed, with the other hand at his waist, turned toward me. Somehow, his relaxed posture took all the fight out of me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I realized I was shaking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “You shemlen are all the same.” I turned and kicked at the fire, causing it to collapse in a burst of sparks. The third uneaten squirrel fell onto the ashes. “To hell with you and your Grey Wardens. I wish I had stayed in that cell.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I spun around and stormed into the darkness. I stumbled through the brush until the foliage blocked out the embers of the fire, and the night surrounded me completely. Even my elf eyes were of little use. Clouds or the canopy above, perhaps both, shrouded even the stars. Hindered by lack of sight, I was eventually forced to slow, and when my crashing subsided it was utterly quiet, punctuated by distant hooting, but no other sounds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I felt around for the nearest tree, curled up at its base, and closed my eyes. I could see nothing either way, but somehow I felt that choosing blindness was preferable than being forced to it. I began to count my heartbeats, focusing on the silence between them. After many a hundred they began to slow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      When I finally slept, I dreamed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Nelaros was with me. I could feel his kiss, forgetting that I had never truly known it. The length of his body pressed against mine, and I arched my back to bring myself closer to him. I lay on a soft bed, his hesitant caresses raising goosebumps on my body. I kissed him earnestly, and I felt his hands gently prying my thighs apart.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      That stirred something in me, a flash of half-remembered dread that faded almost before I could recognize it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I wanted him badly. I clawed at him desperately, driving myself towards pleasure. But he was a specter, fading away and returning to me in a tormented rhythm that I desperately sought to match. He was everywhere and nowhere. I turned us together, intending to trap his ghost between the bed and my own body. Suddenly, the ebb and flow of his form stopped, and he felt solid and unyielding. Finally we became one, and I felt him deep inside me, like a punch to the gut. I opened my eyes and he was staring back at me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      A fly crawled across his eye. I felt a warm wetness between us, and when I looked down I saw the point of our joining was bathed in blood. In his belly, a knife was buried up the hilt where I held it. I returned my gaze to his face in alarm and saw that there was no face. All that was left was a ruined bloodied mess, smashed upon the flagstones. White maggots crawled through the ravaged sockets of his eyes and nose, wriggling luridly in delight of the flesh they consumed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I jolted awake.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Golden sunlight beamed through the trees, sparkling off dewey droplets that clung to the grass. My breath began to come in heaves that I could not control. I buried my head between my knees and fell into the chaos of despair.</span>
</p><p><span>*           </span> <span>*           </span> <span>*</span></p><p>
  <span>Sometime later the sounds of the forest began to reach me again. The songs of birds calling to each other in numbers I had never imagined possible. A squirrel chittered above me while a green beetle scurried through the leaf litter. It crawled over my bare left foot...and then over the right.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I cupped my hand down and the little beetle climbed in, intent on its mission. I twisted my hand slowly as it crawled, until eventually it fell, dropping like a pebble. The moment it hit the ground it righted itself and soldiered stoically on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      It was time to go, I decided.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I rose with difficulty—every bone and muscle in me ached with vehemence. The fitful sleep had done nothing but add to my exhaustion and my head swam with dizziness as I stood. I remembered vaguely from which direction I had come, and I started back once I was sure my legs could hold my weight. In the darkness, it had felt like I had gone much further than the daylight revealed. I was all but fifty paces from where Duncan tended the fire. He had evidently rearranged it at some point during the night or early morning. A tin kettle boiled black and the smell of kafe wafted under my nose.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Duncan poured a mug and handed it to me without saying a word. I sipped the hot bitter liquid, only then realizing how cold I was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Without warning, the knight drew out a long bronze dagger; the sound of its unsheathing sent an involuntary jolt down my spine. Tensing, I steeled myself for the fight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Instead he pulled out a block of hard cheese from the pack, and cut off a portion which he extended to me. I blinked and took the offering, feeling very much like a soap bubble that had just been popped.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I nibbled on the cheese and piece of stale bread he offered next, but continued to watch his blade with lingering suspicion. He noticed my persistent gaze, and held it up to study himself for a moment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “A dar’misaan. Dalish make. The crafts and magic of Elvenhan are half-forgotten now, but most Dalish smiths can manage small enchantments yet. I’ve used this blade to cut tinder, gut game, and kill enemies, and it has remained as sharp as they day it came into my possession—perhaps sharper, though it has never been set against a whetstone.” He twirled the blade deftly, as though checking the balance. It glinted bronze against the sunlight, smooth and perfect with no chips or gouges.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      He held out the dagger to me, handle first. I took it slowly and held it awkwardly, not quite knowing what to do with it. I had never held such a weapon before. Elves in Denerim were banned from carrying weapons of most kinds, and the only knives I had ever used were for the practicalities of preparing food. The piece of metal I currently held was far different from anything I would use to butcher a chicken. The hilt was dressed with leather and a multicolored weave laid over top. It fit my hand remarkably well, and I wondered how Duncan’s much larger grip could hold it comfortably. The blade was slightly longer than my forearm, though curved slightly, and sharp on both edges. Curiosity began to replace suspicion as I continued to search for defects, bringing it closer to my eye. I could find none; the bronze blade was as smooth as porcelain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “It may only be a fancy, but I believe the blade to be truer than most as well,” Duncan continued. “I have never made a cut I did not intend, nor miss my target when wielding this dagger. To test it I once flung it twenty times in a row at a wooden door and the tip stuck in the exact same place every time. The innkeeper was quite put out when he saw the hole it left.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I held it back to him reluctantly. He took it but did not sheath it, instead continuing to examine it for a moment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Valendrian implied that you were born in Denerim.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I was…and so was my father, but my mother was of the Dalish,” I explained cautiously, unsure what he was getting at.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Ah, and she bestowed the vallaslin on you.” He gestured to my face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “No,” I said coldly. “I did them myself.” He nodded at that, but said nothing. I suddenly felt absurdly defensive. “I did it so that the Dalish would know I was one of them when I went to find them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “The Dalish are not so easily found, young one, and less easily joined. The lore of Elvenhan is lost to time though the Dalish cling to what remnants remain. They are hesitant to let outsiders join for fear of diluting what is still left of their culture.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “But I’m not an outsider!” I insisted. How would he know anyway?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Perhaps not,” he said mildly, studying me. “No, perhaps not indeed. In any case, as a Grey Warden you will have little opportunity to seek them. Still…” He sheathed the dar’misaan and unbuckled the belt it was attached to, offering the whole assembly to me. “Perhaps you will appreciate its history better than I.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      My anger evaporated to confusion. “I don’t understand…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I believe even in the alienage, you are familiar with the concept of gifts,” he said patiently.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I took the sheath and dagger mechanically, finding myself at a loss for words. “I…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “You’ll need it in the coming days. The best swords have names—daggers are rarely given such an honor. Though perhaps this one deserves it, should you choose.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      My mind went blank and I could do nothing but stare at the blade lying in my open hands. My companion rose to put out the fire and went about the business of packing up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Duncan…why me? I mean…” I swallowed. “I…I don’t forgive you for standing aside and all but telling Vaughan to take his pleasure. But…you did obtain my release. You had no obligation to save me. You could have just left, but you didn’t. Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Being a Grey Warden is not salvation, girl. It is sacrifice. I only saw a young woman who possessed a certain constitution...a fighter, one who I thought could make it in the Grey Warden ranks. But make no mistake, I did not save you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      He began disassembling the camp, eliminating all traces of our presence with thorough competence. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “There is a stream a few dozen paces from here, if you wish to wash,” the knight said. “Regardless, I suggest you change your attire now, unless you want to continue to ride in that until sundown.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      The clothes he had offered me still sat exactly where they had been left the night before. I took them and went off in the direction Duncan had pointed. The foliage screened me completely, but I didn’t think the warden would try to watch anyway. I stripped off my dress, stays, chemise, and stockings.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      A mass of black blue bloomed under the skin of my ribs, and more bruises in roughly the shape of hands laid across both my upper arms, but that seemed the worst of it. I crouched at the edge of the stream and, cupping one hand, let the drops of crystalline water spill across the bruises, washing away the lingering flecks of dirt and dried blood. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I did this methodically for each part of my body,  until my hands were numbed from the coldness of the water. Then I set about undoing the plaits in my hair which had fallen into a mess of knots since Shianni had done them the previous morning. I washed out the tangled, crusted strands as best I could and redid the plaits in a simpler fashion, but decided to keep the metal rings she had woven in as part of the pattern. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Satisfied that I was cleansed as well as I might, I examined the new clothes. Duncan had provided a quilted coat, leather shoes, stays—much to my relief,—plain trousers, and a long tunic that covered to mid-thigh with a slit on either side. I had rarely worn trousers before, generally preferring skirts, but I imagined that if there was more riding to be done, that the former would do better. There were raw patches on my inner knees, where they had rubbed for hours directly against the saddle. I donned the clothes, fastening the riding cloak on last, and buckled the belt with the dar’misaan around my waist. Even at the last hole the belt felt loose around my hips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I folded the ruined garb carefully, doing my best to smooth out the edges. The effort was largely in vain, but it felt right to at least try. I set the pile on the bank of the stream and gave up a silent prayer to whoever was listening…the Maker, the elven gods, I didn’t know exactly…but I asked for strength in the coming days. I knew next to nothing about the Grey Wardens but I had decided that I would do whatever was needed to survive among them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      And with that I left the last remnant of my old life behind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “It’s just over a week’s ride to Ostagar,” Duncan said when I returned. “I will teach you swordcraft every morning for an hour until we reach it. You won’t be a sword master in just two weeks, but you ought to be able to hold your own before the real training begins at Ostagar.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Ostagar?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      He nodded but did not elaborate further as he hoisted me onto the back of my brown horse. Moments later he was atop his black beast and I could do nothing but follow into an uncertain future.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. The Road South</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The journey that followed passed uneventfully, which is not to say that it was dull. To me, one who had never left the same ten mile territorial radius, the revelation that we would cover twice that distance each day was one fraught with excitement and trepidation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Our destination lay to the south west of Denerim, a route which traversed the Southron Hills. From what I observed on our travels, the area was largely agrarian, characterized with country fields laid over rolling knolls. We passed by cottars frequently and could usually find one that would lend their shelter to two weary travelers with little expectation of payment beyond the sharing of talk and news we may have gathered on our travels.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      On nights when lodging could not be found, Duncan and I would make camp and hunt. He taught me how to string the hunting bow he carried, though the draw weight was too great for me to use it. Duncan assured me that once at our destination I would train with a bow of appropriate weight, and that in time I would learn to draw even heavy ones like his.  Nonetheless, I couldn’t help feeling disappointed by this perceived failure. Wanting to prove myself useful as a hunter, I made a slingshot from the cut hem of my tunic and the end of a leather strap. I had been using a sling all my life. It was the best way to catch rats and pigeons for dinner in the alienage. Duncan grunted in approval when he saw me kill one jackrabbit after another using only one swing each. The next day he showed me how to find the best reeds to make rope so I need not cut my own clothes every time I needed string. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Onward we journeyed and the fields and groves soon gave way to true forests. The ground rose up beneath us, and each hill we crossed grew impossibly higher. Before long, the land was populated more by stony outcrops than cottars. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Much of our path lay along an ancient Tevinter highway, which had the welcome convenience of transcending the increasingly irregular landscape. The road was raised up on great arches that spanned the widening valleys and ran parallel to an aqueduct that had long since run dry. It was not unusual, however, that Duncan would have us leave the highway all together to take some other path—sometimes a lesser dirt road, sometimes little more than a game trail—eventually rejoining the highway several miles or, sometimes, days later. While at first I was disposed to interpret this as navigational indecision on Duncan’s part, it became clear to me that the man in fact knew the route with impressive confidence, despite never consulting a compass or map.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I tried to recall what little geography I knew about Ferelden; the subject had never been a priority in alienage curriculums. The Frostback mountain range slung a long arm down the western and across the southern reaches, so that was good enough reason to believe we had come to the foothills of those mountains. Somewhere in that same tumultuous range lay the underground lair of the dwarves: Orzammar. I knew next to nothing about the reclusive city, except that it was said to be impossible to find by outsiders. On the highway we passed several dwarven caravans with carts laden with wares traveling in either direction. ‘Merchant’ was the only occupation I had ever known a surface dwarf to have; the Denerim market district was rife with them. Some of the more successful ones had permanent residences in the merchants’ quarter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      As we passed fellow travelers, most greeted us with little more than a polite nod of acknowledgement. When Duncan happened to have swept back the edge of his grey cloak, revealing the azure device of a two-headed griffon emblazoned on his surcoat, passing dwarves who observed it would complete a heartfelt bow, sweeping their hats in a generous arc before replacing them upon their head as we passed. Duncan always returned these with a gracious salute of his hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Onward we traveled, further and further south. By the eighth day we seemed to have passed beyond the lair of the dwarves for the road became bereft of their caravans. Indeed, presently there were very few travelers at all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Where foxcoons and mountain goats had been absent in the early days of our journey—or at least wary enough to avoid notice—they now often wandered indifferently across our path. Herds of druffalo would raise their heads and call to our mounts, thinking them strange brethren. Wolves, we never saw, though they made their presence known nightly in the howling chorus that echoed through the valleys. I enjoyed their songs; having grown up in the city I had little ingrained fear of wolves. They never harassed us or the horses, giving me little reason to adjust my perception.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I began to wonder exactly what Ostagar, our destination, was. Not a city, I thought. Beyond the mountains, I recalled that the landscape subsided suddenly to impassable marshlands known as the Korcari wilds, and I did not think there were any major settlements there or beyond. Duncan’s generally taciturn disposition dissuaded me from asking for information he did not offer, so I resigned myself to holding onto this puzzle for the time being.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Absently, I tried to reason how far we had come and if we were still within the borders of the realm. As the highway fell into further disrepair with every passing mile—occasionally disappearing entirely—I was led to doubt, regardless of its official affiliation, that this region had seen a tax collector in many years.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      These geographical mysteries were sufficient to occupy me as we rode for the first several days, but my mind soon turned to other concerns. The weather, which was fair at the outset, soured as we ventured further south—and away from the sun. The sky became an unbroken grey overcast, so that counting the days’ hours became an endlessly frustrating task that I soon abandoned all together. With the clouds came the spring rains, like an unwanted distant relative, oblivious—or indifferent—to the foul mood they sowed. Further north, where I came from, spring rain often meant heavy unannounced barrages that passed over just as soon as one could find shelter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Here in the southern reaches, it drizzled with chilly persistence. The tight-knit woolen riding cloak was up to the task of keeping me somewhat dry, but even it could not resist such elemental tenacity, and the cold soaked relentlessly into my bones. By the ninth day, the novelty of adventure and the mystery of our destination had dissolved with the rain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      It was partially a desire to get warm that I threw myself wholeheartedly into training with Duncan. As he had vowed, every morning he would bid me take up a stance in a convenient clearing, where he would then stand opposite to my person, and try to hit me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Tussling was something of culture in the alienage; children learned quickly how to fight where it often meant the difference between a full stomach and sleeping hungry. Even among friends, wrestling matches were a staple where prospects for recreation were limited. Boys and girls alike learned how to fight for the concurrent needs of survival and friendship. As such, I was already a capable fighter—at least against an opponent that was of an approximate size to me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Duncan was not of an approximate size, being in the advantage of ten stone and a head-and-a-half of height. But if the Warden was unperturbed by the inferiority of my physical prowess, he also refrained any show of approval of my base skills. I was quick of foot and eye, and so usually able to dodge his strikes, but he was quick too—quicker than I thought humans were supposed to be—and relentless. He had no qualms about striking me when I was not lively enough to avoid or block his blows, nor any compunctions about knocking me to the ground if the opportunity presented itself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      After a few days, the bruises I had earned in Denerim grew less tender, having faded to green and yellow shades. I never said anything to Duncan, but he seemed to sense that I was healing, and the training sessions became longer and harder. I had thought they were relentless to begin with, but the intensity increased threefold. New spots of purple began to bloom over the old contusions.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      After several days of hand-to-hand instruction, he bade me undraw the dar’misaan I kept always at my side. He drew his own sword, and began to pace in front of me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Weapons are a great equalizer on the battlefield,” he explained as he hefted his blade appraisingly. “Even one of smaller stature may defeat an opponent greater than she, given that her skill surpasses his. It would take a considerable amount of force—more than you have—to knock a darkspawn on its back with your fists.” He eyed this particular part of my anatomy dubiously. “It takes considerably less force to poke it full of holes, but there’s where the trick of it lies. It’ll be trying to stick you too...so you must be better at it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      He took up a position with a one handed grip on the sword he still held. “This is your basic arming stance…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      And so a new chapter in training began.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      He encouraged my instinctual strategy of dodging his powerful strikes, then making swift and strategic returns in the same motion. I may have lacked the strength to cleave a man asunder, but several well aimed pricks would fell a man just the same, so Duncan said.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “More men have been killed on the battlefield by daggers than by swords or arrows,” he explained after I expressed my doubts regarding the reach of Fang—as I had taken to calling the dar’misaan. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>If </span>
  </em>
  <span>you’re quick about it, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>if </span>
  </em>
  <span>you can avoid the jabs of a longer blade, a dagger will find the gaps in armor better than any other type of weapon.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      He taught me how to strike and how to parry, both standing and from the ground. He taught me to look for tells that would telegraph the enemy’s moves, and how to hide my own. When I had gotten comfortable with Fang, he made me practice with his own arming sword. It was lighter than I had expected, though the length still seemed unruly compared to the more manageable dar’misaan. But with practice, I soon became comfortable with both.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Between practicing sword swings with both the right and the left hand, and subsequently clutching reins as we traveled miles and miles daily, my hands blistered relentlessly. Yet with the pain came peculiar satisfaction; they served as a reminder to grip sword, shield, and reins all the harder. By leaning into the pain, I would cover the stinging welts with toughened skin so they may not tear again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Though I was constantly exhausted, I continued to push myself in every aspect of the journey. I never said as much to Duncan, but my willingness to travel longer and hit harder, stemmed less from a simple desire to improve, but rather because the exhaustion kept my mind from less pleasant musings.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      The thought of Denerim presented an interesting contradiction to me. While I had always planned to leave the city when the opportunity came, it had been my home my entire eighteen years of life, and it was not without its share of pleasant memories. I had not expected myself to long for the place, but I could not fathom why I should find myself in the throes of unseen fear at the barest thought of my once-home.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Nightmares were my nightly companion, always of similar themes as I had the first night in the forest. That specific dream reoccurred infrequently, but there were many variations. I found my dreams taking me back to the dungeons under Fort Drakon, feeling the rats chew on my toes, more incessantly than I remembered. Other times I was trapped and suffocating, while a voice whispered all the ways he would use my body for himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      And while, when I woke I would shake these nightmares off to turn my focus to reality, beneath it all I struggled to understand them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      After all, I had escaped. Vaughan Urien did not rape me and I had left the dungeon. I had no reason to be afraid of it or him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      But this sound bit of logic was rendered mute when I realized that it was not always myself I pictured in the dreams. It was Shianni.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I had escaped…but had she? By leaving the city I had robbed the magistrate of their scapegoat, and though I believed that being drafted into a mysterious militia—wherein I expected that very soon various monsters would be making a concerted effort to kill me—was enough punishment for my crimes, the city guards and their masters were unlikely to see it that way. If their bloodlust was not sated, I feared that the alienage would be harassed and bated into riots. Or someone would implicate Shianni, or Aniya, or even Soris, just for the chance of ending the broader persecution. With a certain grim pragmatism, I found myself feeling relieved that my parents and Nelaros were already dead…at least no further harm could come to them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I had intended to die too, to spare the ones who were still left. It is easy to be brave when you’re safe in your bed; it’s easy to imagine your own great acts of heroism when you’re surrounded by people who care for you. My outlook had changed considerably down in the prisons. Bludgeoned and bleeding, staring at the prospect of being hanged or worse, denied gentle word or touch to sooth my fear, I admit that I had yielded to it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      To leave with Duncan had been the coward’s choice. Had I gotten more people killed for it? Had it had all been for nothing? The thoughts swirled in my head like snow, forming an icy ball of dread in my chest that thawed only when I was sparring. When I was still, the snow drifts began to lean against my mind, until I feared I would move no more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I doubted I would ever see the alienage again...and if I did, neither it nor I would be the same.</span>
</p><p><span>*           </span> <span>*           </span> <span>*</span></p><p>
  <span>On the eighteenth day, the warden and I summited a mountain hill just as the morning sun pierced the rainy gloom. For the first time in days, I could see beyond the next valley. About three leagues away, built into the mountain, a grey shape gleamed among the tall pines. I recognized the familiar shapes of towers and battlements, above which banners of silver and blue alongside those of red and gold rippled in the high wind. The fortress was grand and imposing, even at this distance, but it was not the stronghold itself that made me catch my breath. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Beyond the high tower, the sky was a shocking shade of red-orange, unlike any sunrise or sunset I had ever seen. The color was stagnant and oppressive, as though a broiling hatred had saturated the air itself and corroded the sky. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Ostagar,” Duncan said, looking towards the distant fortress. His eyes tightened as he scanned the burned sky. “And not a moment to spare.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Kings and Commanders</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>After over a fortnight on the road, it was hard to imagine that by the day’s end our journey would be complete. I had spent enough time on the back of a horse to last me a lifetime. Although the persistent fear of falling had waned over days of endless hours in the saddle, I doubted I would ever feel fully comfortable atop a horse. Whatever awaited me at the castle, I couldn’t deny that I was looking forward to staying put for a while.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I  observed Duncan’s demeanor furtively, searching for any hint of similar relief and found no such thing. If anything, his impenetrable visage became even more grim. Perhaps the situation with the darkspawn, or whatever the threat was, really was as serious as he made it out to be. I supposed I would see it for myself soon enough.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      As we drew closer, the features of the immense ruined fortress came into detail. It was split into two parts, each built into the opposing cliff sides of a narrow pass, with a long bridge linking the two halves. On eastern half, a great tower rose almost halfway up the sky, its serrated architecture reminding me of the spindly evergreens that bristled along the mountain sides. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Duncan explained that it had originally been built by the Tevinter Imperium to stave off raiding wilders from the south.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “The Korcari wilds are a land of deep pines and frigid bogs—not a place for the softhearted—and the Chasind wilders live there always. The environment has imbued them with ruthlessness and a severe wariness of outsiders. They have needed it to survive for all these generations. It is no small wonder that the Tevinter feared them. Yet they need not have. The Chasind have little desire for conquest and are content with their hovels. It is well over nine hundred years since the Imperium fell and this fortress was abandoned, yet the Korcari wilds have not swallowed Thedas yet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Why are we here then?” I asked. This was the most exposition that Duncan had provided at once for the entire journey, and I meant to exploit this bout of verbosity.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “We have clashed with the darkspawn several times, and we have reason to believe that the horde is amassing in the Korcari wilds. Already, countless Chasind refugees are fleeing, and they do not leave the wilds lightly. The Grey Wardens number only a few hundred in Ferelden, and we are not enough to stand against a horde of this magnitude. That is why I have requested that the King sends his forces to ally with us here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Aren’t there other Grey Wardens from outside Ferelden?” I asked, leaning cautiously in the saddle as the horse beneath me stepped carefully around the uneven rock in the path.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “The bulk of our forces are stationed at Weisshaupt fortress in the Anderfels, a thousand leagues from here. The Orlesian legion of Grey Wardens are closer, but they are still beyond the western mountains, and it would be months before they arrived. We cannot depend on their help. That is why we need the aid of King Cailan, but I fear even that may not be enough.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I pondered for a moment what good I, a scrawny elf girl who could barely handle a sword, would be to their campaign. “What will I have to do?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      He looked at me, his dark eyes unreadable. “All in good time, girl.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      It seemed the exposition had concluded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      A horn blast sounded out as we came to a great bridge leading to the main gate of the eastern half of the fortress. It crossed a chasm that was only small in comparison to the main valley the fort straddled. The bridge’s banisters had crumbled away in places so that the edge of the path dropped to a lethal depth. I cringed away from the edge and tried to keep my eyes ahead towards the gate. I could make out soldiers stationed on the high walls and out the windows of the great towers. As we drew near, ancient mechanisms creaked and strained against the immense weight of the portcullis, yet relentlessly it rose. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      The other side of the gate revealed an expansive corridor. It had had a ceiling once, but it had long since collapsed, leaving the columns to reach for the open air and turning the orange-grey sky into a shifting mural above us. Occupying the near end of the corridor was a company of helmed soldiers flanking two men who were as different from each other as night and day. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      One of the men wore a scarlet cloak and underneath it, gold-washed armor from head to toe. His breastplate was encrusted with rubies and starstones in the device of a dragon’s head. Under his arm he casually rested a plumed helm which he had just removed from his head. The man’s hair, as golden as his armor, flowed like silk over his shoulders. He was young, despite his decadence; I estimated he couldn’t be older than his early twenties. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      The other man appeared much older, in no small part due to the scowl that lined his face. His armor was of severe grey steel, with spiked knee and shoulder cuffs. I wondered how he moved without sticking himself. His stringy black hair was greasy and it looked like he had deliberately smeared charcoal under his eyes, which moved critically to inspect Duncan and I as we drew near.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      The first man strode forward as the gate closed behind us; we dismounted—I had gotten much better at executing that particular movement—and stewards came forward to lead our mounts away without prompting. The golden man beamed a grin, revealing stunningly white teeth, and opened his arms in joyous welcome. The darker man hung back, glowering gravely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Ho there, Duncan!” the first man reached forward and grasped Duncan by the forearm, a gesture Duncan returned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “King Cailan, I didn’t expect—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “A royal welcome?” the man supplied helpfully, the corners of his bright green eyes crinkling with merry pleasure. “You’ve been away on your mission so long, I was afraid you would miss all the fun.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I tried not to let my mouth hang open. King Cailan? </span>
  <em>
    <span>The</span>
  </em>
  <span> King Cailan? Of </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ferelden</span>
  </em>
  <span>? Duncan had said that the king’s forces would be here, but I never expected to be standing next to the man himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Not if I can help it, your Majesty,” Duncan said in all seriousness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Ha!” the king laughed as though the warden had just told a marvelous joke. “Then I’ll have the mighty Duncan at my side in battle after all! How glorious! I trust your mission was successful?” The king turned his gaze to me. “Is this to be the Grey Wardens’ newest recruit?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Allow me make introductions…” Duncan began.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      The king waved a hand. “There’s no need to be so formal, Duncan! We shall be shedding blood together, after all! Ho there, friend,” he said to me, extending an arm as he had to Duncan.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I stared at it blankly. Was this a trick? Surely the king wouldn’t allow me to touch him as though I were his equal? Couldn’t he see I was an elf? If I reached for the king would his guards gut me? But if I refused, would he be gravely insulted and order his guards to gut me anyway? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I realized I was still staring in bewilderment and I dropped into an awkward curtsy rather than take his arm. He lowered his own easily, not looking the slightest bit offended. The smile on his face never wavered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Sarabi Tabris, your Majesty,” I said, wobbling at the bottom of the curtsy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “An honor to meet you, and allow me to be the first to welcome you to Ostagar. The Wardens will benefit greatly with you in their ranks. The Grey Wardens are desperate to bolster their numbers, and I for one, am glad to help. From where do you hail?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “From Denerim, sire,” I answered, rising again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Me too!” The king laughed, almost giddy. “Though I haven’t been there in some time. You must be from the alienage. Tell me, how is it there?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I could not help my voice harden. He had no idea what was happening in the capital of his own kingdom. “You’re a king. Go and see for yourself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      He sighed sadly. “If only it were so easy. Unfortunately my guards all but forbid me from visiting the alienages. So many rules...that’s something they never tell you about being king.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I suppose there’s a lot of things they don’t tell you,” I said icily.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Finally, he seemed to catch wind of my tone. “But whatever could you mean by that?” he asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Duncan stepped forward, clearing his throat pointedly. “Your Majesty, you would not have heard, but there are events in Denerim that you should be made aware of. I shall be happy to inform you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      He was referring to the murder of the arl’s son, I knew. I wondered if he would tell the king that the one responsible was in their very midsts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I see,” the king replied. “You shall tell me later, Duncan. But for now, we have a war to attend to. I must be off. Loghain is eager to bore me with strategy and planning.” He nodded to the man in the grey steel who had been silently watching our interaction from several paces off. I thought I saw the lines of his frown etch ever so slightly deeper into his face, if such a thing were even possible.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “One more thing, your Majesty, if I may,” Duncan said. “Your uncle sends his greetings and news that Redcliffe forces will be ready to march within the month.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Ha!” was the King’s response. “Eamon just wants in on the glory. We have won three battles against the darkspawn, we likely will have this mess cleaned up before he even arrives.” The king lowered his voice and leaned towards Duncan. “Truth be told, Duncan, I’m not even sure this is a true Blight. There are plenty of darkspawn on the field but alas there has been no sign of an archdemon yet, and we’ve been fending off the raids for months.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “You sound disappointed, saving your Majesty’s presence,” Duncan commented.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Well, I had imagined it would be like it is in the songs. A great king riding alongside the fabled Grey Wardens to defeat a tainted heathen god. But if we can stop the horde before this becomes a Blight then perhaps it will sow more unity in the kingdom.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      The man in the steel armor cleared his throat pointedly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “My lord…” he began, a hint of exasperation creeping into his tone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Yes, yes, Loghain, very well.” He straightened himself before Duncan and me. “Farewell, Wardens. Merry we part!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “And merry we meet again, your Majesty.” Duncan crossed his fist over his chest and bowed, a gesture I belatedly attempted to imitate. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      The king turned and went with the other knight, followed by his numerous guards.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      When the procession was long past I whispered to Duncan, “So...that’s the king, huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Duncan made a small noise at the back of his throat. He had detected the note of dislike in my voice. “King Cailan is young and has the spirit of youth in him. But he’s a good man who cares deeply for the morale of the men and women who follow him. His father, King Maric, was the first regent to allow Grey Wardens to return to Ferelden.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “You still haven’t explained that, you know,” I reminded him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      The warden smiled—barely more than a lifted corner of his mouth. He began walking deeper into the fortress, gesturing that I should accompany him. As we walked he explained,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I mentioned once that even kings and queens have joined the Grey Wardens? We accept all, of any race and creed. Criminals can be pardoned by the Wardens, as you know, yet nobility that join do not annul their birthrights. Two hundred years ago a warden commander, nobly born, was involved in a coup for the throne of Ferelden. We do not involve ourselves in national affairs as an entity, yet loyalties run deep. The commander was well liked by her troops, and a number of them clashed with the Fereldan army. When the army prevailed, the entire Warden legion was expelled from the realm.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “It sounds like you could have saved yourself a lot of trouble if the Grey Wardens renounced their titles,” I observed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “There are many in the Wardens who would agree with you. But if that were made so, few nobles would think of joining. And many Grey Wardens believe that our ranks need people of certain noble aptitude: people with military training and leadership experience. Skills beyond those of cutthroats, mercenaries, and those who have no other option.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      No mystery which of those types I counted as. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “From what the king said, it sounds like the Grey Wardens are barely needed at all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “It is true, that they’ve won several battles and skirmishes against the darkspawn,” he replied noncommittally.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “You sound less sure than he did,” I noted skeptically.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Duncan almost looked anxious beneath his calm exterior. “Despite the victories so far, the darkspawn horde grows larger every passing day. By now they look to outnumber us. I know an archdemon is behind this. But I cannot ask the king to act solely on my feeling.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Why not? He seems to hold the Grey Wardens in high regard.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “The king is impatient and eager to neutralize this threat. There is a company of Grey Wardens in Orlais who could be here in a matter of months, and Arl Eamon’s forces will be here sooner than that. But Loghain is encouraging the king to act swiftly. He says that waiting will only give the darkspawn more time to expand their numbers. I cannot say he is wrong in that respect.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I remembered the scowling man in the ridiculous spikey grey armor, who must be Loghain. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Isn’t he Queen Anora’s father?” I asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Yes, and the Teyrn of Gwaren, but most importantly the High Commander of the Fereldan army. The Grey Wardens number too few in this land; we must do what we can, and trust in the teyrn’s forces to make up the difference.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Do you think it will be enough?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I can only hope so. To that end, it is important that we proceed with the ritual as soon as possible.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      That brought me up short. “The ritual? What ritual?” Duncan had mentioned an initiation, but ritual implied something more than just a formality—it implied magic.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “There is a secret ceremony that all recruits must complete in order to be made a full Warden. It is brief, but very important.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Why secret?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “The ritual is dangerous. I cannot speak more of it except to say that you will learn everything in good time. Until then, believe me when I say that what will be done is necessary.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I nodded wordlessly to this, pressing my icy fingers into my palms and realizing suddenly how cold and tired I felt. At that moment, the only thing that felt necessary was finding warmth. Duncan seemed to notice my desire and said, </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Come, I will show you to your tent. We will proceed with the ritual on the morrow.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      The fortress was even more immense within than it had appeared from the outside. Severe buttresses and pointed arches dominated the structure. These all were covered in intricate carvings in the stone that had become so time-worn I could only guess what they depicted. The forest had half swallowed the castle; groves of pines sprouted from the tiles and interspersed the columns of stone, until it seemed like a natural extension of the architecture. The corridor led to a huge central courtyard which was filled with tents and people. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I followed closely behind Duncan afraid I would get lost in the sea of activity. Men and women in boiled leathers, mail, and thick doublets oiled their blades, played dice, or repaired their gear, chatting in various degrees of cheerfulness to each other. Some, who either had nothing better to do, or simply prioritized warmth,  huddled around the small flaming braziers scattered throughout. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Clerics with their noises buried in piles of scrolls and loose parchment waddled through the workmen and soldiers. Younger children dodged underfoot delivering messages and completing errands for their masters. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      After so many long days in solitude it felt like a relief to once again be surrounded by people.    </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Duncan ducked into a medium-sized tent at the end of the encampment. I followed him in without thinking—and balked a second later as my veins turned to ice and my skin to stone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      The inside was illuminated by an oil lamp, revealing a sparsely furnished interior with four cots. Upon two of the cots, two human men sat facing each other. One had an egg-shaped head and bulbous nose, the other had a pointed chin and top knot. They each straightened when Duncan and I entered, turning to look at us expectantly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Cold flames of dread rushed down my spine. My heart, which had stopped all together, now took off like a horse at a flat gallop. I remembered the last time I had been in a confined space with three men.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      But no, I assured myself. I knew Duncan. He wouldn’t do a thing like that...would he? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Not even a second had passed; Duncan was saying something:</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Apologies for the intrusion, gentlemen. Might I introduce Sarabi, a warden-initiate, like yourselves. Sarabi, these are Daveth…” he indicated with an open palm to the man with a top knot, “…and Jory,” the one with the bulbous nose. The two men nodded wordlessly to me. “The three of you will complete the Joining tomorrow. I suggest all of you rest well tonight, for you will need all your strength for the ceremony.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      The tension in my muscles suddenly released like the cord of a slingshot and I all but dashed out of the tent, remembering enough of my wits to hiss at Duncan under my breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “A word,” I whispered almost soundlessly. I knew he would hear me. He followed without comment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Duncan,” I said in a low voice outside, trying to keep the shakiness from it. “They’re men…isn’t there—I mean, I can’t sleep in the same tent, I’m a…I’m a </span>
  <em>
    <span>girl</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “You’re a soldier now,” he said simply. “As are those two. Special treatment has no place in the Grey Wardens.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I do not want special treatment…” I hissed in frustration. “I’ll sleep on the ground, </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything, please</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      He raised a black brow. “Apologies, I was under the impression that you knew how to handle any man who would make a move against your person.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I clenched my hand reflexively, realizing I was gripping the hilt of the Fang at my belt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Perhaps I was mistaken,” he continued stroking his beard. “For believing you were cut of the stuff that could face down a darkspawn. But if two men in a tent rattle you…perhaps I should have left you in the cell.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I bristled at the injustice. “I’m not a killer!” I said hotly. “I did what I needed to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “And here you must do the same. A soldier will do what she needs to survive, not balk at any small discomfort. Save your fears for when the danger is in front of you, girl. When it charges with claws and teeth and presses a knife to your throat. When the screams of the enemy cut you to the core and shake you in your bones. That is where fear comes, and where you will defeat it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      My mouth worked, looking for some retort, but infuriatingly I had no response.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Tomorrow your Joining will commence,” Duncan said with finality, “and I suggest you rest well. You will find me in the west fort. Until then you are free to explore the camp but do not leave. You remember the penalty for desertion?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I chewed my lip and nodded sullenly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Good. Until tomorrow then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      With that he left me alone. I stood several moments longer outside the tent, unsure what to do with myself. The last thing I desired was to go back into that tent. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      The sky glowed red beyond the ruin,  turning the evergreens to black by contrast. My stomach growled as I registered that the hour was growing late. I had not eaten since the midday meal. Surely there were kitchens or a mess hall somewhere in this fort. I endeavored to look; if I was unsuccessful, at least I’d feel safer lost in the anonymity of the crowds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I walked around the perimeter of the courtyard, simultaneously looking for a promising path to the kitchens while also observing the camp. Most of the people were human, but fair proportions of dwarves and elves were present as well. It was easy enough to distinguish the men and women of the king’s army from the Grey Wardens, by their different livery, and by the fact that the former was composed entirely of humans. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      The Grey Wardens had no such racial scruples. I tried not to gape at Warden soldiers of different races who appeared entirely at ease passing the time together. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      In Denerim, the segregation was quite pronounced, even among those of the same social class. Elves stuck with elves, and humans with humans, and so it had always been. Although friendships and other attachments between races were not uncommon, strictly speaking, they were far from the norm. As I watched the people here, I began to understand what Duncan meant when he said there was no special treatment given. Man, woman, elf, human, and dwarf...all were just soldiers in a war.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Yet tension was not entirely absent at the encampment, as I soon learned. As I walked,  I heard a droning voice ask,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “What is it now? Haven’t you lot asked enough of the Circle of Magi?” The voice belonged to a man clad in blue robes with golden threads that caught the setting light. He was addressing another taller man, wearing non-descript gambeson. The mage—as his robes bade me to presume he was—wrinkled his nose, and his mouth bore a thin-lipped frown which said much about how he felt about the other man. Curious, I stopped to listen surreptitiously to their conversation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I simply came to deliver a message from the Revered Mother,” the tall man replied easily. His tone gave away a restrained bemusement of the mage’s evident opinion of him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “What the Revered Mother wants is of no concern to me,” the mage replied tartly. “I am </span>
  <em>
    <span>busy</span>
  </em>
  <span> helping the Grey Wardens—at the king’s own request, I might add.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Should I have asked her to write a note?” the other man asked, the picture of feigned innocence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Tell her</span>
  </em>
  <span> that I will not be harassed in this manner!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Yes…I was harassing you by delivering a simple message.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      At that, the mage puffed up, like a toad who’s realized his stool has been usurped. He fumbled for a retort before declaring, “Your glibness does you no credit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “And here I thought we were getting along so well,” the tall man said, unperturbed. “I was even going to name one of my children after you…the </span>
  <em>
    <span>grumpy one</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Enough!” the mage shouted, throwing his hands in the air, his face gone puce. “I will speak with the woman myself if I must. Now get out of my way, you damned fool!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      He strode directly towards his antagonist, though there was plenty of room for him to go around. The other man stepped out of the way casually, turning to watch his recipient go. He noticed me then, and his bemusement gave way to a sly grin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “You know, one good thing about the Blight, it brings people together.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Unsure what to say, I replied with the obvious. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “You are…a very strange human,” I said. From his speech the man was high born, or at least had the advantage of refined education. Yet his clothes were simple, not rich, and his demeanor was incongruous to the haughtiness I had come to associate with nobles. He reminded me of Soris in his easy demeanor, always seeming to try to find the funny side of any situation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “That so?” he asked. “In that case, I shall endeavor to be entirely ordinary, how hard could that be?” He laughed self-deprecatingly, running a hand through his short crop of sand-colored hair. “Wait…we haven’t met have we? Judging by your weapon you’re not another mage at least.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Would that make your day worse?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      He smirked. “Hardly. I just like to know my chances of being turned into a toad at any given moment.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Right…well, I’m not a mage. I’m Sarabi. Duncan recruited me to join the Grey Wardens.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Ah, is Duncan back then? That’s wonderful news. I think Loghain has been pushing the king for a full fledged assault. Perhaps Duncan can talk some sense into him. Anyway, as a junior member of the order, allow me to welcome you to the Grey Wardens. I’m Alistair.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      For a moment I’m sure I looked as dumbstruck as the mage. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>You’re</span>
  </em>
  <span> a Grey Warden?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      He smiled happily. “Just joined four months back. Lots of things to do, places to go, darkspawn to stab, it’s been great!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Sounds…thrilling.” Were all Grey Wardens this touched in the head? Duncan had always seemed steadfast and grave. This man was about as tall as Duncan, but there the similarities ended. Where Duncan’s dour expression rarely altered, Alistair’s seemed to reflect his thoughts like a mirror. His skin was unblemished by age or hardship; a thin scruff of whiskers sprouted from a hard jawline, a day or two since their last shave.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “You know, it’s strange,” Alistair was saying, “but there aren’t many female wardens, I wonder why that is?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Maybe we’re just smarter,” I said softly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      He laughed. “Possibly. What does that make you then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I looked away towards the darkening sky. “Just…very unlucky,” I said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Alistair’s mouth twitched. “Ouch.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Wanting to steer the subject away from myself I asked, “Are all mages that prickly?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “What? Oh Lawrence? It’s just that the Circle is here at the King’s request, and the Chantry doesn’t like that one bit. They just love letting the mages know how unwelcome they are. Which puts me in a difficult position…you see, I used to be a templar. Well, in training to be one that is. The revered mother asked me to deliver a message and I’m sure she meant it as an insult. Lawrence picked right up on that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “You used to be a mage hunter?” I had seen templars in Denerim occasionally loitering outside of taverns, or patrolling through the streets. Even the city guard tended to give them a wide berth. Their glowers were always penetrating, and though I had no magic, I always felt like they were discerning my most forbidden secrets. On the whole, they had always struck me as quite the haughty group, not at all like the soldier before me now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “They would prefer the term mage-regulator,” he corrected me. “They’re the guardians and protectors of the Chantry, which includes taking apostate mages under the guidance of the Circle of Magi, and bringing maleficar to justice.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Maleficar?” I asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Blood mages. Nasty business that. I’m glad I’m not involved in that anymore.” He shuddered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “You would rather hunt down darkspawn?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Heh...good point.” Alistair shrugged. “Anyway, I would have never agreed to deliver the message, except that Duncan said that we must all get along and cooperate. Apparently not everyone got the same speech. Anyway, nothing I can do about it now. This must be your first time in the camp, yes? Do you need any help finding anything? You seem like you’re looking for something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      In answer, my stomach growled loudly, much to my embarrassment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Alistair laughed, but not in an unkind way. “The mess, I take it? Come, I’ll show you the way, I was heading there myself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I had only but to follow.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Dinner Theatre</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>I followed Alistair into the interior of the fortress. Though the forest had invaded much of the outer rooms and courtyards, the inner halls were still intact, if worn and cold. Even there, moss grew in the cracks of the stone walls, and dried leaves had swept into the corners at every turn. Ancient tapestries still hung in places, but they were moth eaten and molded to the point that the depictions were unrecognizable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I caught the scent of risen bread wafting in the air, and before long we came to one of the great halls. The room contained several long dining tables and half a dozen burning hearths. Each of these hosted a roast of meat or cauldron of stew, attended by plump cooks who worked behind the preparation tables laden with flour, chopped potatoes, turnips, and leafy greens. The warmth and delicious smells swirled in the air in a mixture so thick I could have leaned against it. I had never seen so much food in one place before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Is all this for us? For the soldiers I mean?” I asked in amazement as I followed Alistair to the far end of the hall.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Also the mages, and the clerics, and the Chantry, and everyone else who follows the army,” my new companion murmured. “The king insisted that everyone in the ranks eats as well as he does.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      He showed me how to obtain a plate and bowl of stew with hearty chunks of meat and potato along with a generous cut of bread. It all smelled incredible. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      People had arranged themselves in small groups along the long tables to eat and converse. I wondered absently how many people were in the fort in totality. I followed Alistair’s lead as he set up occupation of an empty table end, sitting across from him. He began to eat in companionable silence, a state in which I was all too glad to join. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      A woman’s high clear voice carried over the low hum of dining hall chatter. A quick glance between gulps of stew confirmed the voice belonged to a Chantry priestess, standing atop a bench of another table, surrounded by a score of enraptured soldiers. I listened impassively as I returned to my meal.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “We stand here in this hour, good folk of Ferelden, and we contemplate the death that may await. Death is no failure, my friends. Should it find you, you will not have failed your king, you will have served your Maker. Die in battle and when you stand before the Maker in the land beyond the Fade, He shall not find you wanting. Go into death gladly, with the knowledge that evil has been held at bay by your spilled blood.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Cheerful,” I muttered dryly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Alistair smiled ruefully, having heard the sermon as well. “The priestesses can be a bit morbid, I admit, but I suppose it does comfort some.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I shook my head at the endearing looks and prayerful expression of some of the onlookers. Myself, I had no intentions of meeting death gladly, whatever Maker awaited me on the other side of the Veil.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Turning back to Alistair I asked, “Do you not count yourself among them? If you were once in the Chantry but here now, I imagine that means the sermons didn’t stir you to piety?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Alistair laughed, shaking his head. “The Templar Order is an arm of the Chantry, but it wasn’t as though I was waiting on altars or writing sermons.” He shuddered. “And in any case, I had yet to take my full vows when Duncan conscripted me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I never quite understood...” I said around a mouthful. “The Chantry controls the Templars, and the Templars control the Circle of Magi, is that it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “That would be a very simplified version of the arrangement, yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “What’s the not simplified version?” It was refreshing to have a companion that seemed happy to answer my queries, rather than treating it like a chore. I realized that I liked this Alistair, and was glad to have run into him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      He looked thoughtful as he pondered my question. “Well the Circle is easy enough to understand. Mystical forces…power beyond imagining—all wrapped up in a neat little package we call a mage. Except, magic is a corrupting influence. Not all mages are bad of course, but all are tempted by whatever powers lurk in the Fade . Mages that give into that temptation are a danger to themselves and those around them. That’s where the Templars come in. They monitor mages for signs of corruption and enforce punishment on those who dabble in forbidden arts.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Like maleficar?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      He smiled approvingly. “You were listening. That’s a first, most people tune me out when I talk. Yes, like maleficar and profane—mages who have been possessed by demons. The Chantry say that the Templars are guardians and noble watchers. But make no mistake, they’re an army.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “What makes the Templars able to fight mages? Do they wield magic themselves?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Er…no, they have their own abilities through which they combat magic. But those aren’t common knowledge. I may not be in the Order anymore, but they wouldn’t exactly like it if I spilled all their trade secrets. The Grey Wardens are on shaky ground in Ferelden as it is.” He took an exaggerated look around the dining hall then leaned forward conspiratorially. “Best not to aggravate the Chantry, if we can help it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “If it’s so secret…” I posited, “why did they let you leave the Order at all?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      He leaned back and resumed his normal tone. “Well, they didn’t let me go without a fight.” His face became almost sad. “I never wanted to be a Templar. But I was shipped off to the Chantry when I was young and was never given much say in the matter. Duncan believed that my training against mages would help the Grey Wardens. Still, the grand cleric would never have allowed me to leave if Duncan hadn’t pushed the issue. I’ll always be grateful to him for that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Duncan knew you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Not exactly. I had never met Duncan before, but he knew my f—my family.” He glanced at me to see if I noticed his slip. I nodded thoughtfully, my eyes on my meal.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “You speak fondly of Duncan,” I observed. ‘Fondly’ was putting it lightly, if I was honest; there was a note in his voice that almost implied a reverence for the warden commander.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I spent ten years in the Chantry, hopelessly resigned to my fate. Duncan was the first person who cared what </span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> wanted. He risked a lot of trouble with the Chantry to help me. I never wanted to devote my life to religion. I believe in the Maker well enough, but you may have noticed I’m not exactly the type for pious contemplation. For the first few years it was all about learning the histories and memorizing the law, and it was all so dreadfully boring to me. I wanted to </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span> something with my life, not just spend all my time locked away in a tower.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I thought about the Templar patrols I had seen in Denerim; they didn’t seem the bookish sort. When I voiced this impression to Alistair, he conceded with a caveat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “The martial training came later, when I was older. That was a bit better. But still, there were so many rules, and the clerics were very strict. The whole thing...it just wasn’t for me. So when Duncan came along I leapt at the chance and I’ve never looked back.” He waved a hand, as though dismissing his history as but a minor thing. “I’ve been talking too much. But what about you? Were you conscripted? Or did you join for the fantastic camp stew?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Conscripted,” I said automatically as my spoon scraped around the almost empty bowl. “I was in prison and Duncan gave me a choice.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Thieving?” he asked, though it was more of an assumption than a question.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      My utensil clattered into the dish as the heat of indignation swept up to my face. “Because I’m an elf, is that it? We’re all thieves and cutpurses, is that what you think?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      He laughed, and I ground my teeth further. “Well you did just admit to being a criminal. And you wouldn’t be the first—or the last—to join the Wardens rather than face the noose or life in a dungeon.” He shrugged. “Alright then...so not thieving...what </span>
  <em>
    <span>did </span>
  </em>
  <span>you do?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      The flush under my skin turned to chagrin. “I killed a man,” I said cautiously, then capitulated, “…and his friend.” I watched for his reaction through down-cast lashes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Ah yes, double murder...much better than thieving. You truly are an eidolon to your race.” He winked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I narrowed my eyes once more. “Well, I don’t know what an eidolon is, but if you’re going to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>snarky</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” I said, knocking the bench back as I stood. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      He reached across to stop me, his expression suddenly reconciliatory. “Wait, Sarabi. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      For a moment, the simple realization that he was a human apologizing to an elf was enough to scramble my righteous affrontement. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Taking advantage of my hesitation he asked, “Did they deserve it?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      He was still holding my arm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      My jaw clenched as flashes of memory played behind my eyelids. Memories of </span>
  <em>
    <span>other </span>
  </em>
  <span>hands that had gripped me. I slowly extricated myself from Alistair’s hold. He let go gently. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “That and more,” I replied finally. A beat passed and, feeling deflated, I sank back down on the bench. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Alistair brightened, the row apparently forgotten. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Well, thank the Maker, us Grey Wardens don’t have to worry about pesky questions like whether or not our opponents deserve to die,” he said in an clear effort to lighten the mood. “Have you ever seen a darkspawn?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “No,” I admitted. “I didn’t even think they were real until now. Part of me still wondered if Duncan wasn’t actually just a crazed lunatic going on about make-believe creatures and was leading me in a hopeless quest.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Alistair gave a short laugh. “That’s what a lot of people say. I guess memory is short. The last Blight was nearly four hundred years ago, plenty of time for people to forget.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “What…what exactly </span>
  <em>
    <span>are</span>
  </em>
  <span> darkspawn then?” I asked, hoping the question wasn’t flagrantly uniformed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I caught a spark in his eye as he cleared his throat theatrically and began to recite as though from a great tome. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>      “</span>
  <em>
    <span>No matter their power or triumph, the mage-lords of Tevinter were men and doomed to die. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>      Then a voice whispered within their hearts, </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>      Shall you surrender your power to time, like beasts in the fields? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>      Go forth and claim the empty throne of Heaven, and be Gods!’</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>      In secret they worked magic upon magic, all their power and all their vanity they turned against the Veil until at last, it gave way. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>      Above them came a river of light. Before them, the throne of Heaven, waiting. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>      But when they took a single step toward the empty throne, the very foundations of Heaven and earth shook, for no mortal may walk bodily in the realm of dreams.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>      Violently they were cast down, bearing the mark of their crimes: </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>      Bodies so maimed and distorted that none should see them and know them for men. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>      Deep into the earth they fled, away from the Light. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>      In darkness eternal they searched for those who had goaded them on. Until at last they found their prize. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>      Their god, their betrayer, the sleeping dragon Dumat. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>      Their taint twisted even the false-god, and the whisperer woke at last in horror, and led them to wreak havoc upon all the nations of the world: the First Blight.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>      The last word hung tantalizingly in the air. Then Alistair shrugged, breaking the illusion. “The truth is, we don’t really know. We </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span> know that they come up from the ground, and that Grey Wardens are the best weapon we have to stop them from destroying the world.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Why the Grey Wardens?” I wondered. “What makes them so special?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “You’ll see when you’re initiated,” he replied, suddenly evasive, snatching a bite of stew as though to stop himself from saying more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “More trade secrets?” I asked. Alistair nodded vaguely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Duncan mentioned about this… Joining,” I said, affecting to be unconcerned. “But he won’t tell me what it is.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Alistair seemed to be thinking something over and I waited patiently.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I really can’t say.” His lips pressed together in an expression that conveyed unpleasant thoughts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Duncan implied that it was dangerous?” I prompted him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Only two of four during my Joining made it through,” he said, eyeing his supper without eating.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “What happened to the others?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Alistair went silent, his expression notably blank. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Oh, I thought. Yes, that would bring down the mood considerably. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I think I’m beginning to understand why your order has so few members.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Alistair laughed suddenly. The sound was not loud, but it was startling, given the topic we had just been discussing. Not for the first time did I begin to wonder if the man was unhinged. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I said the same thing when I was an initiate. It’s not all bad, though, wait until you get to meet the others, everyone is really great.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Are the others more like you or Duncan?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Dear lady, whatever could you mean by that?” he asked, playing at righteous bewilderment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “You’re much less…” I searched for a diplomatic word, “…formal than Duncan’s example gave me to believe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I get that a lot,” Alistair replied wryly. “Most of us don’t really have a family to go back to, so we’re all like each other’s family and we look out for each other.” Something caught his attention and he beckoned in welcome over my shoulder. “I believe here come your two fellow recruits even as I speak.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I turned to look in the direction he did, and my entire body tensed as I saw the two men I had met in the tent strolling towards where Alistair and I were sat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “You alright there, Alistair?” the one with the top-knot—Daveth, if I remembered well—said in a loud, friendly voice, taking up occupation of the bench beside me. The other man, Jory, hesitated before sitting across from Daveth. I sat frozen like a prey animal. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      No, I told myself sternly. This is all in your head. You have nothing to fear from these men. Afterall, I had been sitting calmly with Alistair, why should two more make a difference? My reasonable admonishment, however, did little to ease the imagined icy hand that seized my throat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Never better,” Alistair replied cheerfully, patting his stomach in satisfaction.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Jory was empty handed, while Daveth had procured his dinner and began to eat as they settled on the bench. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Good to see you again, Sarabi,” Daveth said to me. “The quarters a bit of a shock, I take it? Best guess you haven’t done any soldiering before, then?” I tried not to notice as his eyes examined my small frame.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I commanded my muscles to relax and managed a small affirmative noise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “See, Jory, I told you, you wouldn’t be the only one.” The other man looked uneasy, his eyes wandering around the room, and he responded to Daveth with a slight nod. “It’s always the quartering arrangements as take civvies by surprise. In a soldier’s life we don’t have the luxury of notions like modesty.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Alistair saw the blood draining from my face. “It’s not like that,” he said softly. “You can wash and dress separately, a lot of the women do, especially at first.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I forced myself to swallow the block of ice in my throat. I had nothing to fear from any of these men, I told myself again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Is it common for the Wardens to recruit non-soldiers?” I asked finally.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Alistair shrugged. “Not unheard of. All of the recruiters are different. Duncan at least seems to favor a certain personality over fighting experience.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Daveth waved his wooden spoon between bites. “You’ll do alright, being an elf. You probably have better reflexes than any of us lumbering humans.” He laughed at his own expense, then turned to address Alistair. “Besides, Joining gives you secret powers, eh, Alistair? You Wardens and your secrets, but everyone knows the Joining ritual does something to you. Something like which makes you tougher.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Alistair’s mouth tightened but didn’t respond to this. He didn’t like dancing around secrets he wasn’t permitted to share. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “No, you don’t need to confirm it,” Daveth said glibly. “But I’ve seen the mage wardens working on something, and all they’d say is that it’s for the Joining. I know next to nothing about magic, but any sod that sees </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>much lyrium getting carted in can tell something is in the works.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Lyrium?” I asked curiously, my feelings of unease beginning to subside slightly. “Isn’t that stuff dangerous?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Not if it’s refined properly,” Alistair said. “Ever bought a potion from a healer? Then you probably ingested lyrium and didn’t even know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I nodded at this, pretending that I had ever been wealthy enough to afford any of the magic concoctions sold in the high market district.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Jory, the other man shifted uncomfortably again and finally broke his silence. “I tell you what, the more I hear about this Joining, the less I like it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Not this again, Jory,” Daveth said with a groan. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Jory persisted nevertheless. “The recruiter said the initiation was dangerous, but he ain’t say anything about </span>
  <em>
    <span>lyrium</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Having now spoken for the first time, the man’s complaints spilled out of him as though through a lifted sluice gate. “And why all these  damned tests anyway? Haven’t I proved myself enough already?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “It’s probably just tradition, maybe they’re just trying to annoy you,” Jory chided.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Alistair gave Jory a conciliatory thump on the shoulder. “All in good time, friend. The Templars, the Magi, the Chantry...everybody has some secret handshake or other. The Wardens are no different.” He cleared his throat conspicuously. “I promised Master Beuwin that I’d help him give the new mounts from Westfold a once over. I’d better get over there if I don’t want to be doing it by torch light.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I suspected that Alistair was rather trying to get away from inconvenient questions, but it was excuse enough for all four of us to vacate the table. Daveth began telling me about his previous line of work as we reached the outer courtyard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “...use to be a mercenary, but I got tired of the same old assignments, always an armed guard for nobles in their gilded carriages. Sometimes we’d get into skirmishes with bandits, but the bandits never really want to kill you, they just wanted your gold. Been dying for a real fight. So when my contract was up, I went to join the Wardens.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      My reply to this was interrupted by a distant commotion. Drawn by curiosity, Daveth, Jory, Alistair, and I followed the sounds of shouting coming from the southern gate of the fortress, the one that led into the Wilds. Guards yelled for the gate to be lifted. Hoofbeats rang against the ancient flagstones as a harried rider ducked under the portcullis.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Healers!” someone called, and several grim-faced mages carrying stretchers approached. The horse was slick and lathered in sweat, the reds of his nostrils flaring with each whooshing breath. The rider eased a heavy burden down to the healers: the limp body of dwarf. The smell of blood reached me even as I saw the crimson soaking through his mail. The dwarf was laid on one of the stretchers and hurried away towards the healers’ tents.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      The rider himself sagged with weary relief as he dismounted unsteadily, the horse still dancing in agitation. Both horse and rider sported lacerations and vermillion splatters of battle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      By then more curious on-lookers had gathered to see what all the fuss was about. A captain, bearing the same two-headed griffon device that Duncan wore, strode hastily forward.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Back to your posts!” he shouted at the crowd. The assembled by-standers shuffled around, some obeying the order, but most only pretending to. The captain growled but decided it was a lost cause. Instead he turned to the rider. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Warden Smythsen, what happened?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Darkspawn, Captain,” the warden answered, sagging. “We were attacked not a mile from the fort. They—they came straight up from the ground, so fast we barely had warning. Near a dozen of them all at once...we—” the warden gulped, “we barely had a chance. They dragged Elene underground, we couldn’t stop them. By then everyone was already dead. Once they had her they didn’t care to stay and chat.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “We will send out another patrol to retrieve the bodies if any were left,” the captain said. “Get yourself to the healers, then report to the war room and we will mark the location.” The captain proceeded to shout more orders while the injured warden was herded away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Well, never a dull moment,” Alistair said darkly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Will the other man be alright?” I asked, thinking of the dwarf. He had barely looked alive when he was taken away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “The Wardens’ healers are very good,” Alistair assured me. “And with the Circle here, they’ll not be wanting for any supplies.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Load of good that’ll do the others that didn’t make it back!” Jory lamented. “I saw their patrol ride out this morning. Ten seasoned soldiers, Wardens all, cut down by a gaggle of darkspawn like grain in the harvest.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “The patrols have done away with hundreds of darkspawn, but casualties are inevitable,” Alistair said simply. He addressed all of us three recruits then. “Duncan says you three are to report to him tomorrow morning to prepare for the Joining. I suggest you all get some rest.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      He bowed politely and left us. With the spectacle over, the onlookers began to disperse as well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Us three recruits were somber as we made our way back to the tent.  Jory continued to mutter, highly perturbed by what we had seen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Why can’t they just tell me what will happen after the test? I asked if I would still receive the coin I’m owed if I fail, and no one will give me a straight answer. I only signed up because of the pay. My wife is with child. If I had known, I wouldn’t have…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “There’s a bloody cursed Blight, man!” Daveth replied. “When the time comes we all are going to have to sacrifice something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “You think sacrificing ourselves is the answer?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I’d sacrifice a lot more if I knew it would end the Blight. The Grey Wardens have fought the darkspawn before, so they know better than anyone what it takes to stop them.  Maybe we die, maybe we don’t. But if the darkspawn overrun us we’ll all die for sure. Wouldn’t you give your life to protect your woman and child?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Jory looked down and didn’t answer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Back at the tent, the mood was somber and little else was spoken that night. Despite the gruesome event I had just seen, and any lingering anxiety I harbored about the sleeping arrangements, I felt surprisingly calm. The addition of a warm meal to my weary body had had the effect of steadying my mood significantly, and my belly felt comfortingly full and heavy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Nerves still hummed beneath my skin as the other two men stripped down to their shirts and silently climbed into their cots. Cautiously, I removed my boots and cloak but otherwise remained fully clothed as I settled into one of the unoccupied bedrolls. The fabric of the blankets was rough and smelled of musk. Carefully, I drew the Fang up, minding the blade and hugging it by the hilt. The solidness of the pommel fit reassuringly in the hollow of my breast. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Eyes still open and alert, I listened to everything around me, both within the tent and without. Fire light danced beyond the fabric panes, guards on watch duty coughed and shifted their feet restlessly up on the ramparts, while camp residents walked by in ones and pairs, voices lowered with the sun, back to their beds wherever they may lie. The breath of my companions swiftly changed into the pattern of sleep and I felt myself able to finally relax.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I didn’t know what tomorrow would hold, but I at least knew that I would have a full belly for the night. And I would take that gladly.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. The Price of Victory</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The next morning as the sun glowed softly behind a shroud of reddish-grey clouds, a woman in the full plate armor of the commanding officers came to collect us.</p><p>      “Recruits. My name is Senior Warden Lathana Serasri. Your presence is summoned to the west fort. The Joining is about to begin,” she announced in a clear, deep voice. </p><p>      I tried not to gape. Her eyes were wide pools of blue set in broad, flat brows. The long pointed helixes of her ears protruded through black tresses of hair. </p><p>      They let <em> elves </em> be officers? My first thought was of how Shianni would smack me for clipping her ears if I ever got the chance to tell her. Though curiosity danced on my tongue, I refrained from voicing my surprise outloud. The officer’s stolid demeanor told me she was here for a job, not to entertain the inquisitiveness of mere recruits.</p><p>      I couldn’t help but notice my two companions belted on swords and donned their higher-quality splint mail. Glancing down my own attire, I hoped the plain breeches and gambeson would suffice for the ritual, whatever it entailed. I closed my hand around the Fang’s hilt.</p><p>      Ready for our fates as we ever would be, Jory, Daveth, and I followed the senior warden through the encampment. In silence we crossed the long bridge into the west fort and made our way through the confusing halls, eventually coming to a set of heavy doors with guards posted outside. As we approached, they stood at attention and with a silent command the doors lumbered open.  </p><p>      The room was bare of most furnishings. At the far end, a hearth fire was the only source of light, casting long flickering shadows across the bare stone. Above the mantle, a massive banner hung. Half blue, half grey, it displayed the by now-familiar sigil of the two-headed griffon, but with new aspects I had not seen previously. In front of the griffon’s chest was a chalice into which a single drop of liquid fell. In its talons the griffon clutched a streaming ribbon; upon it was written the words: <em> In War, Victory. In Peace, Vigilance. In Death, Sacrifice </em>. </p><p>      Duncan stood before a long table, the orange light of the fire glowing around him like an aura, shrouding his face in darkness. Upon the table, three chalices, much like the one on the sigil, were arranged in a row. Warden Serasri went to stand at Duncan’s right, both as calm and unyielding as gravestone statues.</p><p>      “At last we come to the Joining,” Duncan began formally, his voice deep with the weight of ceremony. “The Grey Wardens  were founded during the First Blight, when humanity was on the verge of annihilation. So it was that the first Grey Wardens drank of darkspawn blood and mastered the taint.” He spread his arms, indicating to the three chalices upon the table. A sick feeling curled in my gut.  </p><p>      “This,” Duncan continued, “is the source of our strength and our victory. Those who master the taint become immune to its poison and use its power to fight the scourge.”</p><p>      Jory spluttered in surprise, suddenly reaching the same conclusion I had. “W-we’re going to drink the blood of those creatures?”</p><p>      Duncan nodded, expressionless. “As the first Grey Wardens did before us. As we did before you. We pay a heavy price to become what we are. Fate may decree that you pay your price now rather than later.”</p><p>      “You’re saying the ritual may kill us?” Daveth demanded.</p><p>      “The same as any darkspawn. You would not have been chosen, however, if we did not think there was a chance you could survive.”</p><p>      I glanced at my two companions. Jory was pale as snow, a sheen of sweat on his upper lip. Daveth looked rigid but intent, his eyes brimming with dread held carefully in check.</p><p>      “We speak only a few words before the ritual, these words have been said since the first. Warden Serasri,” he turned to the woman beside him, “If you would?”</p><p>      The woman cleared her throat solemnly, head bowed. “Join us, brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten...and that one day we will join you.”</p><p>      Carefully, Duncan lifted one of the goblets from the table, holding it out in front of him with both hands.</p><p>      “Daveth, step forward.”</p><p>      Daveth audibly gulped, but barely hesitated before stepping forward. Taking the chalice, the set of his jaw clenched in resolve.</p><p>      He drank and sputtered into the goblet. It dropped through his hands and clattered against the flagstones, empty though he could not have taken more than a sip. He made a strangled sound and began to thrash around, as though fighting off a great invisible beast.</p><p>      “No, <em> no, no, </em>don’t take me—!” his plea cut off in a gargled scream. He clutched his head between his hands and fell solidly to the ground. His body convulsed and the skin of his throat turned black. The corruption spread quickly as he continued to scream. Suddenly his eyes shot open wide and they were white and unseeing…or perhaps he was seeing the evil that tore him apart.</p><p>      “Andraste’s great flaming ass, <em> do something </em>!” Jory exclaimed. But Duncan only looked on as Daveth’s body contorted in a way I had never seen one do, while the other warden turned away with a pained expression, unable to watch.</p><p>      Gradually Daveth grew still, his body twisted in upon the ground.</p><p>      “I am sorry, Daveth.” Duncan intoned. “Step forward, Jory.”</p><p>      Jory’s head shot up, eyes wide with shock to stare at the warden commander. “Are you all mad? I have a wife! A child! If I had known—”</p><p>      “There is no turning back,” Duncan said calmly, holding out the next cup.</p><p>      “This is blood magic! You ask too much. There is no glory in this!” He drew his blade as he backed up, shoulders hunched in a defensive position. Duncan’s eyes tightened. He placed the chalice back on the table with care, never taking his eyes off the other man. Warden Serasri shifted her weight and gripped the pommel of her sword in lethal readiness.</p><p>      “There is no turning back,” the warden commander warned as he drew his own blade, the red light of the fire shattering off its silver edge.</p><p>      “No—NO!” Jory raised his blade and lunged at Duncan, who parried his strike, sweeping it away like a bothersome insect. The tip of the warden’s sword angled up towards the unprotected skin at Jory’s neck. His life ended with a shower of blood.</p><p>      Duncan spared Jory’s body not a second glance as he wiped the sword clean and resheathed it. My heart pounded to the same rhythm as the blood spurting out of Jory’s neck.</p><p>      “I am sorry, Jory,” Duncan said, his voice unchanged. “Step forward, Sarabi.”</p><p>      I stared in shock and horror at Duncan. His face was black with shadows. Would he release me from prison, travel across the country, train me to fight, only to kill me now if I refused this final task?</p><p>      As I looked into his darkened face I knew that yes...yes he would.</p><p>      My hands, shaking, reached for the final chalice. It was filled with black ink blood. I steeled myself. And drank.</p><p>      As soon as the blood touched my lips it slid into my mouth, moving as though of its own volition. I spat and choked against the slime, but it clung in my mouth with miniscule fingers. It felt…<em> alive </em>. Like spiders crawling down my throat. It pooled in my stomach and in the same moment I felt my abdomen turn itself inside out, all my untouched organs breaking my ribs to retreat from the taint.</p><p>      But the evil that was in me now was relentless. My joints popped agonizingly as each segment of my body was pulled and twisted apart to escape defilement. </p><p>      It burned like acid in my veins. My ear drums burst with a deafening roar like sheared metal. I tried to scream but my mouth was gone. With a bolt of terror I realized my eyes were gone too. I couldn’t find any part of myself. I tried to search for individual pieces of my body, seeking out the pain again just so I could feel myself again, yet I could not comprehend anything that was not the taint, as though my entire body had dissolved into foul black oil.</p><p>      I could not feel my body, yet I could still think. I tried to use that to my advantage. If I could <em> think </em>, I must still have a brain, and that meant my body was not far. I clung on with imaginary clenched-white knuckles, but I could already feel the befouling taint reach its tendrils into my mind, touching each thought, looking to pull them apart like it already had done to my body.</p><p>      NO, I screamed silently. I had to hold on. The rest of me was still out there, if I could keep the taint away for just a few more seconds I was sure I could find myself again. The tendrils stroked that last thought as though mocking my resistance. I pushed back against the corruption, forcing it to retreat as I threw up a wall to buy myself more time. The taint barely hesitated. It scratched relentlessly at the cracks in the bulwark of my feeble defiance.</p><p>      YOU WILL NOT HAVE ME. </p><p>      But I was going to lose. I could feel it coming through the cracks. Now I could feel it chewing at the inside of my skull, having consumed my brain in a tangled web of slippery poison vines.</p><p>      But wait...if I could feel my skull then…the rest of my body had to be there. I clawed desperately with imaginary fingers, tearing away the roots that ensnared me. Then I could feel my actual fingers. Yes, they were still there! And my hands and arms and chest and belly and legs…on and on I followed the sensation of each part of my body onto the next and everything was there. I was whole and intact and yet…the taint was still everywhere. It had…settled…somehow. It no longer coated the surface like oil on water, but had soaked down, like water into soil.</p><p>      Air rushed into my lungs and I gasped in shock that the air tasted clean. For a moment I could do nothing but revel in the joy of it. Yet as the air filled my body with life-giving breath, I could feel its sweetness being touched by the taint that was now within me forever. </p><p>      When I opened my eyes, two faces hovered above me. Did I know them? I had to remind myself who I was and why I was here. What had happened before I was dissolved body and mind and remade again?</p><p>      “Fuck,” I swore. <span>It seemed the only word that could encompass my feelings toward the whole affair.</span></p><p>      “She’s alive!” one of the faces said. The woman.</p><p>      I reached up feebly, and a hand gripped my arm and helped me to my feet.</p><p>      “It is done,” the man said. I remembered he was called Duncan. “From this moment forward, you are a Grey Warden. Welcome. How do you feel?”</p><p>      “Like I’ve been shot through a cannon.” I thought that was a fair estimate of what I had just been through.</p><p>      As I looked around I saw the two bodies of my fellow recruits. My stomach felt sick in a way that had nothing to do with the poison. </p><p>      “I want to leave,” I said stiffly. The ground was spinning.</p><p>      “Of course,” Duncan said graciously, belying the murder he had just committed. “But one more thing...you are a Grey Warden and we are tasked with stopping this Blight and all Blights to come. That means keeping our secrets. Sharing what you have witnessed and experienced here would endanger the sacred duties you are sworn to uphold. And we cannot tolerate one who sabotages our mission.”</p><p>      I nodded, feeling pale, and was escorted out of the room by the senior warden without further ceremony.</p><p>      I had just made it outside of the room when the nausea took over and I vomited against the doorway.</p><p>      My escort stood back and said nothing as I retched up the breakfast I hadn’t eaten. Probably didn’t want to get anything on her shoes, I thought scornfully. </p><p>      When I was done, a dark hand reached into my sight, offering me a wine skin. I looked up—her blue eyes were sympathetic, the veneer of aloof professionalism lifted. </p><p>      “Thank you,” I croaked unsteadily, taking the proffered drink. I swished and spat before taking several large swallows. The burn of the alcohol felt like honey in my throat compared to the toxic blood.</p><p>      “I—I can’t believe Duncan killed Jory,” I said, my voice and thoughts a little clearer now. </p><p>      “Jory was warned there was no turning back, as were you all,” Lathana Serasri replied grimly. “He left Duncan no choice. It surely brought him no pleasure to end his life. Yet the Blight demands sacrifices from us all. Thankfully you stand here as proof that they are not all in vain. You did well.” She patted me on the shoulder commiseratingly.</p><p>      “But Daveth and Jory didn’t,” I said without inflection. She grimaced but said nothing to this.</p><p>      “Their families?” I demanded. “Will they be taken care of?” </p><p>      “Every man, woman, and child in Thedas falls under our protection,” she assured me. “They will be made safe when we stop the Blight. You undoubtedly have many questions, or will soon. But there are many months to come and we need not explain everything now.”</p><p>      It was a non-answer, but I knew by now that pressing the matter would be futile.</p><p>      “Come, you ought to meet everyone. You’re one of us now.”</p><p>      Feeling hollow, I went with her as she led me to the mess hall. When we got there, we were met with a sea of leather, mail, and sweaty bodies, fresh from morning exercise. </p><p>      “Wardens!” Lathana shouted over the din, holding up her hand to draw attention. Slowly, the soldiers crowding the hall quieted and looked up expectantly; a few, seeing me standing hesitantly at her side, began to grin. “Andraste smiles upon us today! The blighters will have one more of us to worry about now!” She stepped to the side, leaving me front and center. “Warden Sarabi Tabris!”</p><p>      At first the murmurs of approval were soft. Then they began to rise in volume, each hearty remark attempting to outdo the one before it, until the mess hall was filled with the sounds of hands and ale mugs banging against the tables, and heartfelt cheers unlike anything I had experienced before.</p><p>      “Give ‘em hell!”</p><p>      “Tabris! Tabris!”</p><p>      “Victory! Victory against the Blight!”</p><p>      Overwhelmed by the display of emotion—so discongrous with my recent experience—I stood dumbfounded at the front of the hall as the gaiety swirled around me.</p><p>      Among the throng, I caught sight of a young man I already knew. As our eyes met, Alistair raised his pitcher, smiling widely. Somehow, this simple gesture broke through my paralysis, sweeping aside all the secrets and torment I had lived through in the last several weeks, and indeed, the last hour. There was so much suffering in the world...but it was not in this room. Tentatively, I let the freedom of elation touch me—and as I began to make my way forward and joined in the celebration, it was enough to feel happy...for a short time. </p><p>*           *           *</p><p>In the dream, I was surrounded by orange smoke that smoldered against the darkness while a heat like a thousand hearth fires blazed with sulfur fumes. The air shimmered with thermal waves, obscuring the creature that called to me.  It was a behemoth...a leviathan...a great horned monster with teeth of black obsidian and scales of iron. From out its gaping jaws, thunder poured—the sound like tearing metal and louder than anything I had ever known waking. It bellowed to its horde, driving them into formations from atop a tall spire. Its rumbling hisses and cackling roars had the cadence of speech yet it was incomprehensible to me. It was the sound of a thousand earthquakes, of wind that could make mountains bow, of fire that scorched nations to dust; it was the most terrible thing I had ever heard...it beckoned me closer, calling in my blood.</p><p>      I gasped awake to the stillness of night. I was in the warden barracks, the sounds around me bewilderingly calm.  </p><p>      The impromptu revelry had not lasted long the previous morning, as the wardens were called away to their wartime duties. Myself, I had been sent to the quarter master to be properly outfitted as a Warden. There, I had fought feelings of imposterhood as I was assigned an extra set of gambeson and one outfit of brigandine and scale mail. The attire was far too fine for the likes of me, a feeling which was only reinforced as I was instructed in the thoroughly unfamiliar task of cleaning and oiling the steel—“Let it rust, and you’ll be on first name basis with a darkspawn’s blade before you know it.”</p><p>      Then I had been given my assignments (daily training until I was deemed fit for battlework) and moved into the barracks that housed the Grey Warden regiment. These were to be my permanent accommodations now that I was joined. We were afforded use of the dormitories that would have once held the resident defensive regiment of the fort. </p><p>      I had been rather relieved by this arrangement, and preferred it greatly to the tents. I would be safer, I felt, in a room filled with fifty men and women, than a tent with only two. </p><p>      So I had thought when I laid down my head that night. Now, as my body trembled with fear from the vision, I felt utterly exposed. I didn’t want the entire regiment to see me going to pieces over a night terror. I muffled an unsteady breath into the crook of my arm, hoping I wouldn’t disturb the figures around me, sleeping in the dark. </p><p>      Except, it wasn’t dark; I could see everything perfectly. My eyesight had always been good, but inside the barracks, in the dead of night and no lanterns lit, I should have only been able to make out shapes at best. Yet I could see everything as well as day.</p><p>      I waited for the dream to fade…dreams always did. But this one lingered in my mind’s eye even as I looked with clarity upon the real world. I rubbed my eyes, as though to scrub the image from the inside of my eyelids—to no avail. The barracks were nearly windowless, having only narrow slits set high in the walls, through which the distant light of the stars shone intermittently between tufts of silver-edged clouds. </p><p>      I had no intention of going back to sleep any time soon. Steeling out of the bunk, not bothering with shoes or cloak, I padded silently into the night. </p><p>      Outside in the courtyards, the war camp slumbered soundly. Most of the braziers had burned down to coals; here and there fabric rustled as the camp occupants turned over in their sleep and nocturnal words were exchanged in soundless whispers. I wandered without aim, eventually making my way up to the ruined ramparts. The keen eyes of the nightwatch up in their battlements followed me as I walked. And then, when I was marked innocuous, their attentions turned once more to night...and I was alone.</p><p>      The wisps of my hair danced in the chill wind; I leaned against the parapets, shivering as the cold stones greedily absorbed the heat of my sleep-warmed skin. The restless clouds moved across the sky like an exalted march, revealing both of the moons at intervals. The larger shone full while her little sister hung back, half cloaked in her shadow. </p><p>      The moonlight felt like a gift—pure and clean. The distant stars glinted softly, indifferent to me or anything else that came to pass on the earth. Some of their calm settled upon me as I traced the familiar constellations between breaks in the clouds. Somehow, I had always imagined the stars might look different away from Denerim. Perhaps a new vantage would reveal new points of light, I had thought. Yet it was the same sky that I had looked upon as a child, though the world around me had irrevocably changed. I wondered...was it the same sky that my mother had once looked upon when she lived among the Dalish? Then once she came to the city, never to leave, had she looked up and taken comfort in a familiar sky?</p><p>      The stars had no answer. The world was quiet, the strange time before dawn when time itself became muffled and the Veil seemed to grow thin. I could almost feel the ancient spirits of this place, having lain dormant in abandonment for so long, who now stirred with curiosity, observing the new occupants. Thousands upon thousands of words had been uttered here over the centuries, and though their sound was gone, the walls held them still. The same way my mind was laden with the dream-vision, the way the roar of the dragon still echoed in my bones.</p><p>      “Bad dreams, huh?” a soft voice asked. </p><p>      I gave a small start, turning to see a familiar human had silently approached. Alistair came up beside me, clothes wrinkled from sleep, to lean as I did against the low wall. For a moment I thought about denying his assumption. But there was nothing judgemental in his demeanor, only a sort of tentative understanding. </p><p>      “I didn’t mean to wake you,” I said simply.</p><p>      Alistair shrugged, looking out over the valley. The king’s army, too numerous to fit inside the fort, was camped out there, just as quiet as within. “Most of us have learned to block out the nightmares, even the sounds of other people having them, I doubt you woke anyone.”</p><p>      “Except you,” I pointed out.</p><p>      He disregarded this casually. “Well, I still remember the dreams I had my first night. Knowing that they will happen, it doesn’t…it doesn’t make them any easier. When I heard you thrashing around I thought you might want someone to talk to about it.”</p><p>      Part of me thought I ought to be annoyed that he had followed me out here. But as the disturbing vestiges of the nightmare refused to abate, I could not deny that I was actually grateful for the company. </p><p>      We stood together in silence for a long time, until the damp air began to dew upon my skin, blue under the moonlight. </p><p>      “Was it real?” I asked eventually.</p><p>      “In a way, yes…” he replied gently, “...you see, drinking darkspawn blood, well it’s a little bit like becoming a darkspawn yourself, except we don’t consume enough for it to change you completely. Just a little bit.”</p><p>      “Wait...” I held up a hand, gathering my thoughts. “You’re saying that I’m part darkspawn now?”</p><p>      He frowned. “Yes—I mean no, not really…but something like that.”</p><p>      “Makes perfect sense,” I sighed dryly. And yet...I <em> did </em>understand. A part of me would always feel the slick cold tendrils that had chewed upon my flesh. I would never be truly clean again. The taint that had soaked into my blood was a presence I could feel but not see, like something you sensed out of the corner of your eye, but that disappeared when you turned your head. </p><p>      “Some of the extra physical abilities are cool…” Alistair was saying, more to himself than me. He turned to his back to the valley, casually resting his elbows on the rampart wall. “The night vision for one. You’ll have noticed that one...sharper reflexes, greater strength—Oh! When you get a chance, try doing a backflip, you’ll surprise yourself.” </p><p>      His  soft laugh faded quickly. “But there are other…things...that aren’t as convenient. Like the dreams. The most important change is that we can sense when darkspawn are near. You won’t be able to at first, but it becomes more attune over time. You see, they have a sort of hive-mind—but not quite…ah, it’s difficult to explain. The older wardens say that they can understand the darkspawn.”</p><p>      That piqued my interest, and I remembered my vision. “I saw a dragon,” I whispered. “In the dream…it was massive and it seemed to be…talking. I didn’t understand what it was saying, but I knew. I can’t explain it...”</p><p>      My companion nodded, seeming to understand me perfectly. “The darkspawn have a modicum of freewill, and most of the time they are content with just your regular day-to-day pillaging and torture. <em> Usually </em>they stay in the Deep Roads, below ground. But they always are seeking out a leader, something to guide them. The old gods were dragons, so the stories say. Big, intelligent ones—not your usual mountain drake or swamp wyrm. But their spirits were banished far below ground countless eons ago. The darkspawn seek them. When they find one, they corrupt it, twisting its soul into something soulless…an archdemon."</p><p>      He shifted, lifting his reverie. “Of course, that’s all what the Chantry says. But whether or not that’s the whole truth, there’s always a dragon archdemon behind every Blight. You said you could hear it talking to the darkspawn? Well it does. The archdemon commands them, drives them. We know there’s one commanding this horde. The Grey Wardens—we’ve all seen it in our dreams, that’s how we know this is a true Blight. But it hasn’t shown itself on the battlefield yet, so the king’s armies and the Chantry aren’t convinced of it. I just wish I knew what it was waiting for. Archdemons never take this long to reveal themselves, or so I heard.”</p><p>      “They ought to make a handbook,” I muttered to myself, “seeing as no one seems eager to share all of this lore with their recruits.”</p><p>      “If you knew what you were getting yourself into, would you have signed up, even not doing it meant the noose?”</p><p>      My silence was answer enough.</p><p>      “The world <em> needs </em>the Wardens,” he insisted. “When a Blight comes, the ground that the darkspawn walk on becomes barren for years. Have you ever been to the Anderfels?”</p><p>      I shook my head no. “I’d never even left Denerim until a few weeks ago.”</p><p>      “Fair enough...I haven’t been myself, but Duncan told me a bit about it. The land has seen so many Blights that barely anything grows there anymore. It’s just dust. Darkspawn blood kills any living thing it touches—sometimes instantly, sometimes...slowly. But it’s also the key to the Grey Wardens’ powers. You take some blood, add a dash of lyrium, and a few other bits and bobs and you’ve got yourself a powerful potion.” </p><p>      I thought back to Jory’s last words. “So it <em> is </em> blood magic, then.”</p><p>      “Blood magic-<em> adjacent </em>, more like,” Alistair replied, emphasizing the qualifier. “Afterall, I’m not willing to say that darkspawn blood is the same as your’s or mine...but then again, I doubt the Chantry would be so nuanced in their opinion.”</p><p>      “That’s the real reason the Wardens keep their secrets, isn’t it?”</p><p>      “I was locked away in the Chantry for ten years...they like to style themselves as benevolent guides of faith...but if they were ever made aware of what the Joining really entailed, the Wardens would be hunted to the last man. As it is, they turn a blind eye, because they need us, even if they don’t know exactly why. But beyond that...it’s just the nature of most people to ignore unpleasant things, don’t you think? And the Wardens are no different. Talking about the taint makes us uncomfortable, knowing it’s within us and there’s no way to get rid of it. Knowing that one day it will kill us.” </p><p>      I shuddered to think about the smothering poison that had enveloped me, body and soul. “I don’t think I want to hear about that part just now.”</p><p>      “See what I mean?” Alistair laughed softly. “Well...another time then. It’s not important now.” He pushed away from the balustrade, making to leave.</p><p>      “Alistair...” I said, giving him pause, “...thank you for talking to me.”</p><p>      He smiled, his eyes soft as a bare earth warmed under a summer sun. “That’s what I’m here for, to deliver unpleasant news and witty one liners. But you really ought to rest. Duncan won’t go easy on you anymore now you’re an initiate.”</p><p>      “Are you implying that he’s been going easy on me up until now?” I asked with poorly concealed dread. Alistair only laughed softly. </p><p>      “Get some rest, Sarabi,” he repeated, and silently went down the ramparts. </p><p>      Despite his advice, I lingered up there, having no desire to return to sleep and the dragon that waited for me there. The light changed so softly I barely noticed at first. The damp stones, once soft blue dusted with silver under the moonlight, began to glint orange under the corrupted sky, revealed by the growing dawn. </p><p>      The castle seemed to stretch and yawn as its occupants began their morning chores and ablutions. Kitchen hearth fires roared to life, the hounds began to bay, horses in the stables knickered and banged hooves against their stalls, calling their masters to attend them. Hushed morning greetings evolved into a cacophony of talk, punctuated with the clangs of sparring practice commencing before breakfast. </p><p>      Before long, a messenger found me. “Warden Tabris, yer wanted at the arming yard,” he said promptly.</p><p>      “I’ll be there shortly,” I replied and he dashed away before the words had finished leaving my mouth. I turned a last glance over the valley, then I went to find my shoes.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Among the Wardens</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The days that followed saw me settling into this strange new life. Though perhaps ‘settle’ was too passive a word. Rising at dawn with the rest of the fortress, every hour of my days was regimented, with most of those hours finding me in the sparring yard, sword or bow and arrow in hand. </p><p>      Of course I was not surprised to find myself in the rather awkward position of being the single new warden-initiate at the encampment. Alistair had mentioned that only he and another of his cohort had survived the Joining; what he had failed to mention was that although there had been other initiates to survive the ritual since him, most had died in combat in the weeks following. Apparently the mortality rate of warden initiates soared when there was a Blight at hand. I tried not to dwell on how this boded for me.</p><p>      By comparison, the combat practice I had performed with Duncan on the journey south seemed like child’s play. At the time, having only Fang and Duncan’s sword between us, I had not been able to spar against an equally armed opponent, and, Duncan not desiring to injure me with his real sword, I saw now how much he had been holding back. At Ostagar there was no shortage of fighting partners, one after another fresh and rested, armed with sparring blades that, though dull, still bruised ruthlessly. I could but only force my weary body to keep up.  </p><p>      And yet it did keep up. Far past the point when I thought I would collapse of exhaustion, my reflexes would still respond with precision, drawing from the well of constitution the Joining ritual had sowed within me. </p><p>      Some evenings I would fall into bed immediately after dinner, only to stare at the high vaulted ceilings, fending off sleep that brought only demonic visions and little rest. Most of the time, however, I allowed myself to be cajoled and coerced by the other wardens to pass the nights together playing cards and sharing stories. The spirited comradery shown to me the morning after the Joining did not wane, as I had expected. Rather, the wardens welcomed me with open arms, treating me as an equal without reservation. It was not so different from the bonds formed in the alienage, I thought: friendships forged of shared hardship, though in the Wardens’ case, the hardship was fighting against literal monsters rather than systemic subjugation.</p><p>      Despite these newfound friendships, I had not forgotten nor abandoned the plans I had long-since laid for myself. More than once I considered simply running away, despite the explicit threat of execution for desertion. Afterall, it was not the first time I had been faced with death or imprisonment and still chose to flee. The difference in this case being that, whatever threats Duncan made, I doubted that the Wardens would waste their time searching for a single run-away initiate with the darkspawn looming on the horizon. </p><p>      The only reason I stayed was because it became clear that I wouldn’t make it past the guards posted around the Ostagar. Being the only initiate, I was painfully conspicuous; I could hardly pretend to be out on patrol if I was caught, and I didn’t know the wilderness well enough to avoid detection. I resigned myself to the inconvenient reality that I would only have my chance once the archdemon was defeated..however long that would take. </p><p>      Until that time, it seemed foolish not to take advantage of the chance to build my strength and skills. I learned how to work a bow, from carving the wood to loosing the arrow, and found I could be quite good at it, once I had the draw-weight right. I still carried my sling in humble tribute to my beginnings, and because it was far more convenient to wield than a bow, if less lethal. As for melee, most of the Wardens seemed to prefer fighting with sword and shield, but I soon came to favor dual-wielding with the dar’misaan dagger and an arming sword. I instinctively preferred to dodge strikes rather than let a shield take the brunt, which, given my relatively small stature, often tired me more than the evasive maneuvers. </p><p>      As the intensity of the training increased, so too did my appetite. It was fortunate that Ostagar was well-stocked. I had lived my entire life in a place where my next meal was ever in question, and found the mindset of scarcity difficult to break. Here in the fortress there was no shortage to be had, and I found myself making my way to the kitchens at almost every opportunity. </p><p>      On one occasion, Alistair spotted me hiding an extra roll of bread under my tunic as I walked out of breakfast, having consumed three meat pies, half a dozen eggs, several cuts of nugmeat, and an uncounted number of bannocks. His eye twinkled as he caught up to me. </p><p>      “The whole camp is going to go hungry, the way you keep shoveling food in your gob.” He pinched my upper arm. “It’s a good thing you get plenty of exercise.”</p><p>      I responded to this with a steely gaze and considered the satisfaction of breaking his nose. He seemed to read my thoughts instantly.</p><p>      “No don’t hit me! I bruise easily!” He cowered theatrically like I had already struck him. I couldn’t help the smile that broke through my cold annoyance and I laughed. The sound was strange to my own ears, like hearing a song I had once known and then forgotten.  </p><p>      In a development that I had not expected, I found that in quiet moments, of which there were admittedly few, I felt a pang of tender yearning for the alienage. Rationally, I knew that these aches were not due to any virtue of the place itself, but rather they were rooted in longing for familiarity, and worry for the friends I had left behind. However softly I may feel toward my once-home, I was sure that should I find myself there again, faced with the reality of austerity which was so easily overlooked in memory, any lingering feelings of amour would be snuffed out quickly. </p><p>      Still, I missed the laughter of carefree children, the neighborly arguments, even the putrid city smell mixed with the sea-salt air. The fort smelled of burnt torches, old stones, and the musk of damp swamps. As for the sounds, hoofbeats on cobblestone, the clanging noise of blacksmiths at work, and the near-constant shouted military orders, all made for a substantially different atmosphere than I was used to. </p><p>      Barking dogs was one of the few familiar sounds; the king’s army made good use of hounds for hunting both game and darkspawn. But when I first saw the mabari hounds, as the war dogs were called, I had a difficult time believing they were the same species as the alienage curs I had grown up with. The mabari looked more like bulls than dogs, with boxy heads, powerful jaws, and muscular shoulders that regularly crested four feet tall. I envied no man on the wrong side of their attack. And yet I was fascinated by them. Often I walked near the kennels on my errands, even if another route was shorter, if only to see the strange, intimidating animals. It was on one such detour, that I happened to overhear one of the handlers speaking to the kennelmaster. </p><p>      “I don’t understand, ‘e was all well and fine yesterday,” the handler, a gaunt young man liveried in the king’s colors, was saying.</p><p>      Curiosity overcame my better inclinations, and I strode closer, peering into the paddocks where the two humans stood. A mabari hound, the object of their attention, lay before them on the ground in apparent distress.</p><p>      “It’s got to be the taint. Nothing else could set on so quickly,” the kennel master said, with a regretful shake of his white-haired head. </p><p>      “I didn’t see ‘im swallow any darkspawn blood,” the handler protested this, offended by the notion that his own negligence may have landed the animal in this predicament.</p><p>      “Even a single drop is enough, Gildan,” was the kennel master’s answer. “Best to put him out of his misery...”</p><p>      The dog whined pitifully, as though it had understood the decree, and the older man grimaced in sympathy. I craned my neck to better observe the state of the condemned animal. Sweat darkened its short brown fur, and its tongue lolled out of a foamy mouth. Inconsistent spasms rippled across its abdomen, and the white gleamed around desperate brown eyes. </p><p>      My memories reeled back to the alienage, in another age, when my parents were alive. Mama always had a soft spot for animals, even the birds and cats that no one else paid mind to. At first it was just another thing that marked her out as an outsider. Until the day she healed an elder’s beloved pet dog, who had been accidentally poisoned. </p><p>      As I looked at the mabari before me now, the parallels were obvious.</p><p>      “It’s not the taint,” I spoke up before I could stop myself. The two men looked at me, noticing my presence for the first time. Sudden self-consciousness bloomed red on my face—who was I to interfere after all?—but I forced myself to go on. </p><p>      “He’s eaten raishalas, it’s a poisonous kind of mushroom,” I explained hastily. “I’ve seen them growing in these ruins. They like the dark and damp, so you may not have heard of it; you won’t find them in well-kept places. The stems smell sweet, but the caps taste acrid, so most animals leave it alone, but I’ve seen it poison dogs before.”</p><p>      Gildan made no subtle show of taking in the shape of my ears, mouth twisting in disdain. “Where d’you know about this?” he asked, unhappy that I could possibly have knowledge he did not.</p><p>      “It grows everywhere in the alienages,” I replied matter-of-factly. “I watched my mama fix dogs, and cats too, that didn’t have the better sense to leave it alone after one bite.”</p><p>      The mabari coughed and whined unhappily—apologetically? As if he had understood my implied condemnation of his adventurous appetite. </p><p>      “You mean there is an antidote?” the older master asked, hope springing onto his face. Gildan looked at the other man, clearly exasperated that he did not share in his cynical appraisal of me. </p><p>      I nodded, keeping my eyes on the kennelmaster.</p><p>      “There’s a flower, I only know it’s Dalish name...it may not even grow this far south.”</p><p>      The kennel master waved his hand, dismissing this consideration. “What does it look like? Describe it.”</p><p>      I did as he asked, describing yellow flowers with a purple center. He insisted I recall the exact shape and number of petals, and whether it grew as a vine or a shrub. I answered each of his queries soberly, dutifully keeping my eyes on the ground and away from the seething Gildan.</p><p>      Eventually the master was satisfied and smiled. “Scholar’s heart. Yes, the healer’s keep a supply of them—they help with headaches, so I’ve been told. Are the dried flowers effective?”</p><p>      “I think so,” I said, looking over the dog. “They should be brewed, and the cooled tea dripped into his mouth a little at a time.” I hoped it wouldn’t be too late.</p><p>      His vexation finally getting the better of him, Gildan grabbed the kennel master’s arm, his mouth pressed into a thin line. “Master Donnen, y’just said yerself that it was the taint. D’you really want the hound to linger in pain on the word of an elf who has no reason to know better?”</p><p>      The kennelmaster looked mildly between the mabari and me as I shuffled my feet, fretting that with every passing second of inaction the hound drew closer to death.</p><p>      Finally, the master gave me a silent nod. Taking this for the leave it was, I ran to find the healers’ tent and bartered a canister of the herb in question.</p><p>      When I returned, Gildan was gone. No great loss, I thought, and decided to spare the handler’s prejudice no more thought. A draught was quickly concocted and administered per my instruction. I was prepared to perform a fair bit of coaxing, as I had seen Mama do, to convince the mabari to submit to my ministrations, but the dog was surprisingly cooperative, and drank the cure without protest.</p><p>      Within minutes the spasms subsided. Still weak from his ordeal, the mabari lifted his head and licked my hand in a gesture that emanated gratitude.</p><p>      “I think this one likes you,” Master Donnen said approvingly. “He probably knows exactly what you did for ‘im.”</p><p>      I shrugged, graciously rejecting this conclusion. “He’s just happy to not be in pain.” </p><p>      The kennel master smiled, shaking his head. “Mabaris aren’t like regular dogs. They’re intelligent-like. One good mabari’s as good as ten soldiers”—he held up a stipulating finger—“if they’re trained right. The best of them can even understand our speech.”</p><p>      Taking this as merely the affectionate exaggeration people can have for their animals, but not wanting to negate his expertise further, I decided it was time to depart. Yet, as I walked away I thought about the look in the dog’s eye as it listened to me plead its case and wondered... I shook my head, dislodging the absurd notion.</p><p>      A sharp word broke through my thoughts. “You, elf!”</p><p>      I turned at the curt summons automatically, cringing as I did. Had the disagreeable Gildan returned to reprimand me for my meddling?</p><p>      Cautiously, I looked around but did not see him. I had just passed directly in front of an open tent, and belated realized the summons had originated from inside. Within, a woman and a man stood around a table with a map spread open. The woman, who I recognized as the Teyrn of Gwaren’s second-in-command, stood with her arms behind her back, watching patiently as the other man wrote swiftly across a piece of parchment. He was the teyrn himself, of course, wearing full plate armor, and a dour expression as he scowled at the paper. It seemed the mood of the high commander of the Fereldan army had not altered significantly since the first day I saw him.</p><p>      “Take this to Sergeant Esrit,” he said, rolling up the parchment and sealing it with wax pressed with his signet ring. “And do be quick about it.” He held out the missive, not bothering to lift his head. His second glanced at me, but her eyes slid away quickly, absent of recognition.</p><p>      They didn’t know I was a Warden, I realized. Elves were banned from the king’s army, but a good number of them were employed as servants for the officers. I was not liveried in the full Warden colors and only wore an insignia at my shoulder. They had seen only my silhouette and come to what they believed was a reasonable conclusion as to my occupation. I straightened my shoulders; my successful interaction with the mabari had bolstered my courage.</p><p>      “One of the runners would be faster at finding him, your grace, if haste is the object.”</p><p>      Teyrn Loghain looked up then, and, taking in the insignia at my shoulder, straightened.</p><p>      “Ah. Apologies, warden.” His angular face seemed to recall me. “You are that new recruit Duncan brought.”</p><p>      “I am a full Warden now, your grace,” I replied diplomatically.</p><p>      “Indeed. The only one of your recent cohort to survive the Joining, if I am not mistaken? Little wonder that the Wardens number so few.”</p><p>      “It’s dangerous work, your grace.” How quickly I was able to dismiss a notion I myself had voiced not days prior.</p><p>      Loghain took several heavy steps around the table, inspecting me closer. I planted my own feet solidly, forcing myself not to shift under his unnerving appraisal. His eyes roamed the vallaslin lining my face. “A Dalish elf, come to join the Wardens. I never knew the Dalish cared for anything other than chasing ghosts in the woods. Though perhaps the Wardens’ own obsolete love of antiquity is what drew you to leave your arravel?”</p><p>      “I’m from Denerim, your grace, but my mother taught me much about her Dalish culture.” I did not like the teyrn’s line of questioning, but I kept my tone polite.</p><p>      The commander made a noise in his throat. “Hmph...a Dalish elf from Denerim. I heard an interesting story about one such as you recently. She confessed to the murder of Vaughan Urien, only to be released released by rite of conscription.”</p><p>      I swallowed nervously, but stuck out my chin, stating what we both knew already: “I am the one you describe.”</p><p>      “You do not even deny it,” he said, a perverse note of approval in his tone. “It seems the Wardens’ influence is even more far-reaching than I realize, if they are able to pluck any murderer they choose away from justice.”</p><p>      I bristled defiantly at the implication. “I was acting on justice when I killed Urien. The arl’s son would have killed me if I had not defended myself.”</p><p>      “Of that I have no doubt,” Loghain said, surprisingly amiable, though his sharp eyes still searched me as though looking for a weakness. “The boy always did have a cruel streak in him. I warned the arl that it would get his son into trouble one day. No great loss, truth be told. Denerim would be better off in different hands.”</p><p>      I blinked at this unexpected assessment. “You would so coldly write off your own peers?”</p><p>      “I was not the one who committed murder, warden. Tell me, which would you consider the greater sin?”</p><p>      I bit my tongue, knowing I had boxed myself in.</p><p>      “And yet the Wardens shelter you,” he continued. “Lucky for you, King Cailan is enamoured with the Grey Wardens. I would have had you extradited the moment your actions came to light.” </p><p>      Despite his words, I smiled, relaxing once more. He had unwittingly revealed that I was safe from retribution.</p><p>      “The king knows that the Wardens are the realm’s best chance of stopping this Blight, no matter the cost,” I said.</p><p>      “The Grey Wardens are impressive, but not as relevant as Cailan and Duncan would like to believe. They fill their ranks with criminals and mindless warriors who chase archaic notions of glory. Not unlike the king himself,” he added with an air of long-held disgruntlement.</p><p>      “You don’t seem overly fond of him.”</p><p>      “He is Maric’s son, leader of Ferelden, and a very young man. He is capricious and influenceable. I try to keep that in mind...” he narrowed black eyes at me. “As should you.”</p><p>      I heard the implied threat plainly: Loghain may yet advocate my removal. If Cailan agreed, how far would Duncan defy the king of the realm he worked so hard to appease?</p><p>      I lowered my eyes demurely, and reached for the missive Loghain still held in his hand. </p><p>      “I’ll deliver your letter,” I replied coolly. “Never know when another messenger will come by.” I gave my best curtsy. “By your leave, your grace.”</p><p>      I found Sergeant Esrit outside the fortress, in the main camp. As the officer saw the seal, his face scrunched up in displeasure. He slipped the braided cord off and, unrolling the parchment to read the contents, the lines of annoyance on his face deepened.</p><p>      “Something wrong?” I asked mildly.</p><p>      The sergeant glanced at me. “Hmph. The teyrn has changed our scouting routes three times this week alone, wanting to know all the ways out of the valleys in this area. Seems he wants to reroute the wilder refugees, keep them from overwhelming the good Fereldan villages to the north.” A vague roll of the man’s eyes gave away his own thoughts on the matter. “But in my opinion that’s a fool’s errand. The wilders know these hills better than we ever could.” </p><p>      He slapped the missive down, annoyance ostensibly piqued. He hung his head between outstretched arms leaning against the table, and when she spoke again, he seemed to be speaking more to himself than me. </p><p>      “Arl Eamon’s been perpetually delayed, and we don’t have the numbers to be spreading ourselves thin. Our forces would be a lot better suited to tracking the darkspawn movements with the Wardens and striking at their heart. We can push back against the refugees when the wilds are safe…” He looked at me suddenly as though just remembering I was there; I kept my face passively blank. He reached hastily for the scroll. “But I’m only a sergeant, they don’t pay me for my opinions.”</p><p>      I replied something non-commital to this and decided that I had already shirked my duties enough for one day. I arrived at the sparring yard and submitted meekly to Duncan’s castigations for lateness, and put Teyrn Loghain firmly out of mind. I had bigger things to worry about than delayed arls and scouting routes. </p><p>*           *           *</p><p>On the eve of Bloomingtide, the day that marks Moriolis, the fifth month of the year, and the beginning of summer, a feast was held to mark the occasion. In the alienage, the elves would celebrate it like a wedding, stringing the vhenadahl with lanterns and letting the drink flow freely until dawn, welcoming the summer sun. At Ostagar, the sun was notably absent, cloaked as ever behind the burnt-orange clouds. But the lingering cold didn’t dampen the spirits of the camp, and I had little chance to linger in melancholy. </p><p>      “What are you going to call him?” Alistair asked as he sat on the bench next me. The mess hall had every brazier and sconce lit, and extra food had been brought down from the north by the king’s orders. The feast had been going for hours but the night was still young; impromptu songs had begun to spring up throughout the hall as people filled their bellies. Not being much of a singer, I happily continued to consume everything in sight.</p><p>      “Who?” I shifted my seat to make what room I could for Alistair at the crowded table.</p><p>      “The mabari,” he replied, squeezing his large body in next to me. “Master Donnen told me what you did. He’s grateful, him and the dog both.”</p><p>      I shrugged off this appraisal. “He’s not mine, I don’t think I can call him anything.”</p><p>      Refusing to be discouraged, Alistair drummed his fingers against his chin thoughtfully. “What about…‘Barkspawn’?”</p><p>      I smacked him smartly on the back of his head.</p><p>      “Ow!” he exclaimed, rubbing the spot. “What was that for?”</p><p>      “Sorry,” I said monotonously. </p><p>      “Yep...definitely going to bruise…” he lamented, eliciting a reluctant smile from me.</p><p>      “It’s a wonder the darkspawn haven’t done away with you yet, you being so delicate,” I chidded.</p><p>      “It’s simple really, I distract them with my dazzling sense of humor and then stab their ankles when they aren’t looking.”</p><p>      “Very effective,” I conceded with a laugh.</p><p>      “You’ll see for yourself when you join the patrols. Shouldn’t be too long now. I’ve seen you in the arming yard, you’re as ready as any initiate for the field.”</p><p>      I rubbed my temples. “Certainly would be nice to give the blasted dragon that keeps sending me nightmares a piece of my mind.”</p><p>      “I know the feeling,” Alistair agreed.</p><p>      As I drained my ale mug, I overheard some of the army soldiers at the table next to us raucously appraising the physical virtues of the various serving girls.</p><p>      “The best pair of tits I ever saw was on a tavern lass in Redcliffe,” one man said loudly. “Always knew how to get just the perfect cap of foam.” He made a lewd gesture with his mouth, much to the amusement of his comrades. “What was her name… Glorianna?—Goldanna! That’s the one.”</p><p>      Alistair looked up suddenly, as though he had heard his own name. I gritted my teeth. There was a time when I had listened to such conversations with a light-heart, taking them for the harmlessness that they usually were. I had more trouble these days.</p><p>      “Which tavern then?” one of the other soldiers asked. “When the Blight is over I’ll have to pay her a visit.”</p><p>      “Did you say Goldanna?” Alistair leaned over to ask the first man. I glowered, but tried not to hold my friend’s interest against him.</p><p>      The soldier laughed, pleased that his story had earned him so much clout. “Easy, boys, this was nigh on five years ago, and last I checked she was with weans.”</p><p>      “Your bastards, eh?” another soldier asked eliciting various other bawdy jokes.</p><p>      I shifted uncomfortably, about to go and find other, more pleasant conversation, when I felt a hand on my shoulder. Lathana, the senior warden, smiled sympathetically down at me, and silently urged me to wait. She then turned and raised her voice over the men.</p><p>      “Private Almsley doesn’t have any bastards,” she declared in her high voice. “Afterall, I’ve never seen a right hand get with child, and his tool has never been inside anything else.”</p><p>      This was met with various whoops and hollers, but I saw Almsley go red in the face, mollified by this proclamation. </p><p>      Lathana winked at me and lowered her voice for my ears only. “You learn quickly as a woman amongst men, that it’s best to check their pride every now and then. It’s healthy for them.” </p><p>      After that the conversation shifted from sexual conquest to the equally vital topic drinking prowess, eventually culminating in a bet. A burly Grey Warden named Gregoir claimed that he could put away two pints to every one the king’s men could, and that was not a challenge they could let stand. Another round was quickly delivered and I settled in with the spectators, drinking alongside the rest. </p><p>      Some time later, I roused myself from an inebriated stupor and saw Gregoir sitting mildly at a table, humming to himself as he drank, surrounded by empty pitchers and the prostrate forms of various soldiers of the king’s army. </p><p>      Smiling to myself, I fell back into the pleasant throws of dreamless, drunken unconsciousness.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. A Witch of the Wilds</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Despite the epidemic of hangovers that afflicted wardens and kingsmen alike, patrols rode out the next morning as scheduled. I smiled to myself, overhearing the groans that escaped one or two soldiers as they settled onto their mounts. Darkspawn activity had been quiet for days, and the mood among the soldiers was cautiously optimistic that the horde was waning, particularly given the persistent absence of an archdemon. If the situation had been more dire, few would have been relaxed enough to complain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      My naive hopes for a quiet morning were dashed when a runner intercepted me after breakfast with a message from Duncan. I was to see him at once for an assignment. With a wistful glance in the direction of the kennels, I turned towards the west fort and the war room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Alistair was there when I arrived, already wearing the full Warden armor: Silver-riveted blue brigandine and scalemail tassets, with the griffon emblem flaring its wings proudly upon his right shoulder. His feet were shod in well-crafted boots of the same leather of his bracers and gauntlets. Even without the full plate armor of the commanding officers, it was an imposing look.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Headache?” he asked commiseratingly, seeing me stroking my temples.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I grimaced in answer and he laughed. “Same...I think someone hit me at one point, though I don’t quite remember.” He massaged the back of his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Now who would do a thing like that?” I asked innocently.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Duncan walked in then and began without preamble. “Long ago, the wardens signed treaties with the major factions of Thedas, compelling them to aid us during a Blight. It has become clear that we can no longer rely solely on the king alone to avail us. The horde wanes, yet I fear it is as the sea retreats before a great wave. We need more allies.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Alistair straightened attentively. “What do you need us to do, Duncan?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “The documents addressing the factions of Ferelden were lost long ago, yet there are records that indicate where they may be found. There is a ruin about ten miles from here, what was once a Grey Warden outpost in the Korcari wilds. It has long stood abandoned, ever since we could no longer afford to maintain such remote holds.  We believe the letters to be there, if nowhere else. We can only hope that they are.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “And you want us to go and retrieve them,” Alistair guessed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Duncan made an assenting noise in his throat. He beckoned us towards the huge war table, where a map was outspread. Various figurines dotted the landscape. Duncan pointed to a location somewhere on the map as I struggled to orient myself to the topography.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “The hold is far from the bulk of the horde, but be wary. The darkspawn may emerge anywhere, and they are not the only danger that lurks in the swamps... Alistair, you have the command of this mission, use your training well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “What about me?” I asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “You will go with Alistair and protect his flank. Your taint sense is underdeveloped still, but we need every able body at work if we are to beat this Blight. I’m sorry I could not give you more time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I blinked at this uncharacteristic sympathetic display, finding myself lost for words.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Kit up, and travel light, you have a great distance to go, and you’ll be on foot as the terrain is too treacherous for horses, and you will be less conspicuous. Dismissed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I was all too happy to oblige that order. Having been able to avoid horseback since my arrival, I was in no hurry to resume that particular exercise. Alistair had a different opinion. I smiled to myself as he struggled to suppress a groan as we left the room.</span>
</p><p><span>*           </span> <span>*           </span> <span>*</span></p><p>
  <span>Even the hangover did little to quell my elation at finally being let out of the ruins of Ostagar. The fresh air was intoxicating, even with the omnipresent musky tinge. Despite the time of year, it did not yet feel like summer here in the frigid south. Nonetheless, the cold had grown less tenacious and the drizzled rains were punctuated by longer dryer periods. And even though the blighted clouds shielded the sun, the bogs had erupted in scores of brilliant yellow and orange flowers, as though the bulbs had been on the tenuous edge of erupting and did so all together with little hesitation as soon as the earth had warmed even fractionally. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      It was beautiful in an eerie, perverse way. Though, by the third time I stepped onto a patch of ground that, by all reasonable visible indication, had seemed solid, but gave way the moment I put my weight upon it, leaving me calf-deep in bogwater, my sanguine mood was somewhat quelled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      At one point, our path took us through an area of recently disturbed earth. Recently I knew, because the slimy green film that seemed to cover everything had not reformed over the bare clods of dirt. But this was not what alarmed me about the scene. For hundreds of feet around the area, the foliage had turned all black and rotten. I fingered a withered reed that fell to ash in my hands as soon as I touched it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “The taint,” Alistair said quietly over my shoulder. “I told you, the darkspawn kill the ground they walk on. We should be careful. I don’t sense them near, but Duncan was right.” He shuddered. “I just hope we don’t come across any corrupted wolves.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Corrupted </span>
  <em>
    <span>wolves</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” I asked incredulously.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      He nodded. “The taint drives them mad—if it doesn't kill them outright. They lose all fear of people and self-preservation. And wolves aren’t the only things.” He shuddered once more, and I decided I didn’t want to know what other horrible creatures he had seen in these fens.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Alistair navigated while I watched for dangers, eyeing the opaque pools of green water suspiciously with my bow strung and knocked, daring a swamp wyrm to try and pounce on us. Yet the only fauna we encountered were harmless sprites and swamp nugs, which  floated between the reeds or munched happily on the ferns, respectively, ignoring our presence. After several hours I had almost forgotten that we were on a mission when out of the mists, a ruin emerged.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “This is it...” Alistair murmured.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Inexorable decades of time had rendered the outpost into what was now little more than a few free standing pillars, the ceilings having long since collapsed and been swallowed by the marsh. The flagstones, which had once been the floors, were left strewn about, disturbed by the vegetation that had sprung up beneath it. The only recognizable structure was a dilapidated staircase leaning against a bern that appeared to lead nowhere any longer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “How are we supposed to find anything in this place?” I asked Alistair as I slung my bow onto my back to search the area. “Even if they were here, surely the papers would have decayed by now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Here! Look!” Alistair exclaimed, pulling a chest out from a pile of moss-eaten flagstones. Upon the chest was an azure banner, bearing the Wardens’ sigil, the cloth as unsoiled as though freshly spun. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I’ll be damned…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Alistair folded the banner aside carefully and examined the latch. “It’s unlocked.” He drew open the lid...and there was nothing inside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Something is wrong…it should be here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Well, well…what have we here?” a woman’s voice said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Before the last word had been uttered, Alistair had already drawn his sword and maneuvered so we were back-to-back. My own reflexes were just as quick, and I had Fang and my arming sword in either hand in a second. My eyes darted around the ruins, and were drawn immediately to a figure standing at the top of the staircase.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Her dress was striking: she wore a fur-lined war skirt over legs clad in skin-tight black leather. The alabaster skin of her torso was mostly bare, covered only by a black brassiere, and the drapes of a dark red cowl. Her hood was up, cloaking her face in shadow, though I could still feel her eyes on me. Cuffs of dark leather were wrapped around her wrists and biceps, while her fingers and palms were similarly entwined. About her neck was an ornate gold collar-necklace with strings of gold beads linking the filigree and a large blue stone stuck in the middle. A fan of green-black feathers adorned the cuff of one shoulder; over the other, the head of a twisted wooden staff was visible, slung behind her back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Are you a vulture, I wonder?” the mysterious woman said in a voice that was soft as summer rain. “A scavenger, poking amidst a corpse whose bones are long picked clean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      She moved like smoke, as though she didn’t walk, but rather the earth itself moved beneath her. Heavy brass bracelets adorning her wrists should have made noise as she moved, yet they were eerily silent.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Or are you merely an intruder,” she continued, reaching the base of the steps, “coming to these darkspawn-filled wilds of mine in search of easy prey?” With white slender fingers  she removed her hood, revealing night-black hair and eyes of piercing yellow. “What say you? Hm? Scavenger or intruder?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Neither,” Alistair said in a clear voice. “We are Grey Wardens.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      This seemed to amuse the woman. “Grey Wardens, is it? There have been many Grey Wardens in these wilds for some time, having skirmishes with the darkspawn. Yet the horde is miles from here. You do not appear to be lost...” Her penetrating eyes wandered over us, apparently entirely unconcerned with our drawn weapons. I had the feeling that she was seeing much more than we wanted her to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Have you been following us?” I demanded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I have been watching your progress for some time. ‘Where do they go?’ I wonder, ‘why are they here?’ And now you disturb ashes that none have touched for so long...Why is that? I wonder.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Don’t answer her,” Alistair cautioned me in a whisper. “She’s a wilder, that means others may be nearby.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      The woman laughed derisively. “Oh, fear you that the barbarians will swoop down upon you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Alistair’s mouth tightened, turning back to her. “Yes…swooping is bad,” he replied slowly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      The woman regarded him with bemusement. “And yet you came only two. Either you are fools or your mission was secret from even your own allies. Such mysteries...can you blame one for being so curious?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Alistair pressed his lips together but did not answer as she observed him detachedly. Then she seemed to lose interest and turned her eyes to me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “You. Women do not frighten like little boys. Tell me your name and I shall tell you mine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I looked to Alistair who shook his head fractionally. Yet I did not sense any danger from this woman, and she seemed to know more about us than she let on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I am called Sarabi, and this is Alistair,” I said, ignoring the subtle kick Alistair delivered to my shin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “And you may call me Morrigan, if you wish. Allow me to guess your purpose. You sought something in that chest, something that is here no longer.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “‘Here no longer’?” Alistair repeated in a hard voice. “What do you know about it? What are you? And how have you followed us without us knowing you were there?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I know that you strangers will not find what you seek here. As for what I am...I have been called many things, some of which are even true. Suffice it to say that I have certain…abilities which do not endear me to darkspawn, nor the Chasind wilders, nor even your great armies.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Alistair gasped in sudden comprehension, pointing his sword toward the woman. “You’re a witch of the wilds!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “And would that make me a monster to you?” she asked like a purring cat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “That makes you an apostate,” Alistair replied through gritted teeth. “Chantry law dictates that all mages are to be brought into the Circle of Magi. Bad things tend to follow mages who go unchecked.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      She crossed her arms and her yellows eyes tightened in disapproval. “Is foxglove in a pot less poisonous than one in the forest? Men have chained up tigers, seeking to tame them. Yet they will find that a tiger in a cage ‘tis far more dangerous than a tiger free. What I am or am not is no proof of what I may or may not do. Incite a name which means nothing here! It matters little to me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Great,” Alistair muttered unhappily. “She’s a thieving, weird-talking, funny sort of witch. Next she’ll turn us into frogs.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “A thief, too, am I? And tell me, how does one steal from dead men?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Quite easily it would seem,” Alistair replied. “Those documents are Grey Warden property and I order you return them immediately.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I will not! For ‘twas not I who removed them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Do you know who did?” I interjected.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “That would be my mother.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      The entire encounter was quickly wearing on my patience. “Is this some kind of joke?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “If so, ‘twould seem the truthful sort, rather than the funny sort. If you want your documents you need only to ask her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Will you take us to her, then?” I asked with constrained politeness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Morrigan smiled in vague approval. “Now there is a sensible request. I like you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Alistair took hold of my arm and bent to whisper. “Careful. First it’s ‘I like you…’ and then </span>
  <em>
    <span>zap</span>
  </em>
  <span>...frog time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “If she intended us harm she had the drop on us to begin with.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I glanced back at the woman, who was casually adjusting the leather straps about her hands, ostensibly waiting for us to come to a decision. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I don’t like this,” Alistair persisted. “She suddenly appears, offering to lead us to exactly what we need? It’s too convenient.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I agree, but I don’t see what choice we have,” I replied in a low voice. To Morrigan I asked, “Is your mother a witch too?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Many would call her that simply because she prefers her privacy. But you need not fear that she shall be an unpleasant </span>
  <span>host. She will undoubtedly be just as curious as I, as to why you are here. ‘Tis not far. Follow me, if you please.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Alistair looked at me, clearly unhappy with the situation. I nodded reassuringly to my companion and followed the mysterious woman.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Through the bogs she led us, hardly pausing to parse out the best route when the terrain became treacherous. She hopped lithely from rock to rock, over puddles and down fallen logs like a dancer, barely using her arms to balance at all. Alistair and I were not so quick in our following. Several times I lost sight of her through the mist before catching a glimpse of her tall wooden staff in the haze and hastening to catch up once more. I was fearing that I had lost her for certain when something else appeared. A cottage, overgrown with moss and vines and blooming flowers. Light glowed from small windows recessed in the vines and smoke rose from a chimney.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Morrigan, have you returned?” a frail voice called from within the house. Alistair and I skidded to a halt, unsure if we should answer. Then Morrigan was there again, making Alistair start, as though she had been at our side all along.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Here, Mother. I have brought two Grey Wardens with me,” she announced.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      The front door of the cottage opened—I had barely been able to tell there was a door at all under the foliage—and out stepped a haggard old woman. I had expected the mother to be just as striking as the daughter, yet this woman looked about as distinctive as any poor street urchin in Denerim. Cloudy eyes recessed in dark sockets moved behind wiry wisps of hair, and tattered clothes clung to a skeletal body. Yet the resemblance to her daughter was there in the way she moved—upright and proud.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I can see that, girl,” Morrigan’s mother replied to her, as she looked Alistair and I over with her dull eyes. Dull they may have been, but I immediately had the feeling that, like Morrigan, they saw a great deal. “Hm. Much as I expected.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Are we supposed to believe that you were expecting us?” Alistair asked suspiciously.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      The pallid woman cackled. “You are required to do nothing, least of all, believe. Shut one’s eyes tight, or open one’s arms wide...either way one is a fool all the same.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Yep,” Alistair said to me. “Definitely a witch.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Clever lad. Though sadly irrelevant in the grander scheme. But it is not I who decides.” She turned dusty eyes to me. “And what of you? Does your woman’s mind give you a different perspective? Or do you believe as this boy does?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I met her eyes levelly. I suspected that we could be here for some time playing word games if we did not force the point soon. “I believe that you have something we are seeking.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Ah…so Morrigan must have told. Just as she told you she is a witch of the wilds, no doubt. She would never admit it, but she fancies such tales. Oh, how she dances under the moon. Ha!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Are you going to give us the treaties, or not?” I demanded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Yes, yes yes…” the old woman said, waving a hand as though the papers were but a minor concern. “It’s only that you fascinate me so. There is much about you is uncertain. And yet I believe. Do I? Why! It seems I do…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I stepped forward and was about to once again demand to have what we came for. The old woman held up her hand to forestall my protestations.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Settle yourself, child. Before you begin barking, allow me to retrieve your precious treaties.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      She moved with greater acuity that I would have thought possible with her frail body, and swiftly disappeared back into the hut, only to emerge a few moments later with a heavy scroll in one hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I have protected these all these years...do make sure they are delivered safely. I would hate for my diligence to go in vain.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Why?” Alistair asked. “Why protect them? What are they to you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “And why not?” was the ancient woman’s only answer. “Take them to your Grey Wardens and tell them this Blight is more than they realize.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      I took the scrolls from her, and carefully placed them inside my coat. “What do you mean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      The woman actually rolled her eyes, as though I had questioned why the grass is green. “Either the threat is more, or they realize less! Perhaps the threat is only small, yet they realize nothing. Ha! Do not mind me. You have what you came for.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Time for you to go, then,” Morrigan said in evident dismissal.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Her mother looked at her reprovingly. “Do not be ridiculous, girl. These are your guests!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Oh...very well...I’ll show you the way out,” Morrigan acquiesced.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      When I looked back over my shoulder as Alistair and I followed the younger woman away, I blinked. The hut was gone, though we could not have traveled more than a dozen yards. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Keep up, wardens,” our guide called. I shook myself and turned my eyes forward once more, patting the papers in my coat to reassure myself I hadn’t just made it all up.</span>
</p><p><span>*           </span> <span>*           </span> <span>*</span></p><p>
  <span>Twilight was pressing down, and with it, a storm was gathering on the horizon. At first I paid it little mind, but the broiling clouds began to loom quickly as lightning strikes flashed upon the hills. The storm was distant, but fast-moving; I feared it would be on us before we reached Ostagar. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      As it was, Morrigan’s swift lead kept us ahead of the rain. The wind still whipped around us and each clap of thunder sounded closer than the last. The back of my neck tingled with the charged air. A hollowness began to press against my chest, and I silently chided myself for being afraid of a storm. Yet Alistair seemed nervous too; a small line of worry was etched in his brow, and I felt a bit better about my nerves.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “This is where I leave you,” Morrigan said suddenly, as though seeing some marker that was invisible to me. “You shall find your fortress just east of here, I trust you may see yourselves to the gate.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Thank you, Morrigan,” I said sincerely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Be well, Grey Wardens,” she said in a bored tone before skipping off into the mist.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Charming girl,” Alistair murmured. “Come on, Duncan will want to know we’ve found the documents.” He retook the lead, and within minutes we were walking under the portcullis.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      The encampment was in a frenzy. Orders were being shouted over the gale as soldiers rushed to carry them out, and various people carrying ammunitions narrowly avoided colliding with each other as they delivered their loads to the battle stations.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Everyone’s wearing full battle armor,” Alistair observed. “This can’t be good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Together we ran towards the war room. As we reached the open corridor, we both could hear the sounds of an argument emanating from the hall. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “It is out of the question!” a growling voice declared.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Loghain, my decision is final. I will stand by the Grey Wardens in this assault.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      The door was open so Alistair and I took the liberty of entering. Duncan, Loghain, and King Cailan were standing around the great table. Duncan, arms crossed, was silently observing the argument between the other two men. Loghain leaned over the table on both hands, grimacing at King Cailan. I could not help but note that there seemed to be considerably more figures representing the darkspawn upon the war map than when Alistair and I had departed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Duncan, who was the only one to notice our coming, gave a barely perceptible nod but otherwise remained silent. I might have only imagined the hint of relief that crossed his face before his attention turned back to the two angry men before him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “You risk too much, Cailan,” Loghain was saying. “The darkspawn horde is too dangerous for you to be playing hero in the vanguard.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “If it’s too dangerous, perhaps we should fall back and wait for the Orlesian Grey Wardens to join us after all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “You force me to repeat my protests to your fool notion that we need the Orlesians to defend our nation.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Alistair leaned down to whisper out the corner of his mouth to me. “Something tells me we shouldn’t be hearing this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Why not?” I replied. “They’re the ones who are shouting. If they didn’t want everyone to hear they would keep their voices down.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      As I glanced from the king to Alistair I noticed that they were quite similar, physically at least—of nearly the same height, the king being the taller by mere inches. Most people would not notice their likeness. Next to the king, in his gleaming armor and flowing golden hair, Alistair looked quite plain with his dusty blond hair cropped short, and brigandine splattered with grime. Yet something about the way the king’s expressions crossed his face—the way his mouth curved wryly, the way one of his eyebrows raised in disapproval—made me think of my friend.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “It is not a fool notion,” Cailan protested. “Our arguments with the Orlesians are a thing of the past. And you will do well to remember who is king.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Loghain shoved away from the table. “How fortunate that Maric did not live to see his son hand Ferelden over to those who occupied our lands for a generation. Your fascination with glory and legends will be your undoing, Cailan. We must attend to </span>
  <em>
    <span>reality</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I attest that it is </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Loghain, whose judgement of reality is clouded. The Grey Wardens of Orlais are not the Orlesian army that you and my father defeated! But I grow tired of this argument. If that’s really how you feel then our current forces will have to suffice, won’t they? Duncan, are your men ready for battle?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “They are, your majesty,” the warden commander replied.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Then give the orders.” He turned to the teyrn expectantly. “Loghain.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I will give the orders to the troops and move into position,” the darker man replied in a restrained tone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Cailan’s face softened perceptively and he put a benevolent hand upon his advisor’s pauldrons. “This plan will work, Loghain. The Maker will smile upon us this night.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      The king and the teyrn took their leave. My companion and I bowed as they passed us, and we were returned with a cry of “Victory is ours!” from the king as Loghain scowled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Duncan, what is happening?” Alistair asked as the warden commander approached us. “I could sense darkspawn as we were returning, but it felt different than the usual small groups.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “The horde is on the move, they are gathering in the southwest, and may be planning to attack the fortress tonight. You are both lucky. If you had been any later in returning, you may have been cut off from us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      The feeling of unease I had had at the approaching storm—I realized now that it was the taint warning me of the darkspawn mass I had not even known was there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “We had help—” Alistair began to say before I stepped on his foot covertly and quickly spoke over his protestation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “The storm pushed us faster than we may have moved otherwise, so in a way it’s like we had help.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Morrigan was an illegal mage, of that I was certain. Most likely her mother too. If the Chantry learned about their existence they would surely send the Templars to apprehend them. Fine way to repay them for the aid which they could have easily withheld.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “We found the treaties,” I continued before Duncan could suspect my poor cover. “They were at the outpost, exactly where you said.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Good. I will ask you to hold onto them a while longer. I’m afraid they won’t be safe with me. I’ll be on the front lines with the Grey Wardens.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “We intend to make a stand then?” Alistair asked eagerly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Indeed. Unfortunately, Arl Eamon’s reinforcements from Redcliffe have been delayed but we cannot afford to wait any longer. The horde is coming. We do not have the numbers to avoid heavy casualties, but with the plan we have created we will be able to decimate the horde as it is now. With luck, it will take some time before the horde is once again at its full strength, and by then we shall have our reinforcements. With even greater luck, the archdemon may show itself tonight and we shall end this Blight once and for all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “What do you need us to do?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “We will draw the darkspawn into the valley below Ostagar; Loghain’s forces will be hidden in the hillsides. Upon our signal they will flank the darkspawn and cut them off. The King’s vanguard will augment the Grey Wardens in the valley and buy us more time. The signal shall be a beacon at the top of the tower of Ishal. It will not be dangerous, but it is of vital importance. This task will fall to you both.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “What? We won’t be in the battle?” Alistair protested.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “This is by the King’s personal request. Without the beacon, the teyrn’s men won’t know when to charge.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “So he needs two Grey Wardens standing up there holding the torch? What about the mages?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I agree with Alistair,” I said. “I’m ready for this.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “That is not your choice,” Duncan replied harshly. “The mages will focus their spells on hindering the darkspawn. If King Cailan wishes Grey Wardens be there to light the beacon, then Grey Wardens he shall have. We must do whatever it takes to defeat the darkspawn—exciting or no.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Yes, Duncan,” Alistair replied, admonished. Then he lowered his voice so only I could hear. “Just so you know, if the king ever asks me to put on a dress and dance the remigold, I’m drawing the line. Darkspawn or no.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “I’d like to see that,” I whispered back, the mental image alone was enough to force me to suppress a giggle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      He looked down and winked at me. “Maybe I would just for you. But it would have to be a pretty dress.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Duncan frowned at our whispered banter just as a horn blast sounded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “The horde draws closer,” he said urgently. “Time is short. The armies will be in place in less than an hour. Get to the tower and be ready. When the darkspawn are drawn into the valley, light the beacon. It is very important, you </span>
  <em>
    <span>must</span>
  </em>
  <span> light the beacon or Loghain’s forces will not know when to charge. Remember you are both Grey Wardens. I expect you to be worthy of that title.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “Duncan,” Alistair said hastily, a regretful note in his voice. “...May the Maker watch over you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      “May He watch over us all.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. The Battle of Ostagar</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The Tower of Ishal was the highest bastion of the fort, impossible to miss. It had withstood time and the elements, its great buttresses holding the stone fast against decay. When I was still becoming acclimated to the fortress, I had used the tower to orient myself often, as it was visible from almost any part of the encampment. </p><p>      The rains now pummeled the fort in icy sheets, shrouding everything in darkness. The Tower of Ishal stood defiantly against the growing tempest, illuminated with each stroke of lightning.</p><p>      Together Alistair and I ran towards the tower, dodging the few people still straggling for positions, simultaneously checking the strappings of our armor and weapons. I still had a quiver full of arrows, and my sword and dagger rested ready in their scabbards.  </p><p>      “Do you think it will go as planned?” I yelled above the rain.</p><p>      “Little chance!” Alistair shouted back. “That’s the great thing about battles, it all gets thrown out the window from the first volley. But I trust Duncan knows what he’s doing.”</p><p>      Past the ballistas on the bridge crossing the gorge, we ran. I eyed the size of the arrows, wondering if they were big enough to stop a dragon.</p><p>      “What if the archdemon appears?”</p><p>      “Ha! We soil our drawers, that’s what.”</p><p>      “No taste for heroics?”</p><p>      Alistair managed to bestow me with a worldly expression. “I’ve know what it takes to get into the history books. Get yourself killed, doing a thing like that.”</p><p>      “And you wanting to be in the vanguard.”</p><p>      “I want to fight. Doesn’t mean I intend to get myself killed.”</p><p>      We had finally reached the tower and sprinted up the steps, without breaking stride. On and on the tower rose, seemingly endless until the final door opened onto the beacon floor. At the top, tall windowless archways looked out onto open air. The wind whipped through, the rain pelted sideways upon the tile floors. The ceiling and inner sides of the columns were rendered of polished marble, and in the center sat a large iron bowl filled with oil. </p><p>      “When the time comes we light a spark and the oil will burn for hours,” Alistair said, inspecting the bowl briefly, while I went to the very edge of the landing. For a moment I had to overcome a wash of vertigo—I had never been so high in my life. Yet I stood squinting defiantly against the rain, looking over the valley. Even as night and the storm closed around us, my enhanced vision allowed me to see everything.</p><p>      Far below, I could make out the assembled ranks of Grey Wardens heading King Cailan’s vanguard. I thought I could almost make out Duncan on his great black destrier standing next to the king, shining golden upon a white stallion. The mabari manned the frontlines alongside the cavalry, man and beast alike utterly silent.</p><p>      “They’re in position,” I called to Alistair just as a clap of thunder shook the tower under our feet. As the sound died away, distant humming remained. Further out, a few miles to the southwest, black mass broiled, dotted with the fires of torches held aloft. The low hum was the sound of a thousand gnashing teeth, of bestial growls, and rattling chains. The horde moved like a single organism, like slime over the landscape. The vanguard stood steadfast, watching the approach.</p><p>      “What are they waiting for?” I asked anxiously.</p><p>      “Once the darkspawn are in the valley they’ll charge and we’ll light the beacon, but if the horde doesn’t go far enough into the valley, Loghain won’t be able to flank them.”</p><p>      I looked at the hill sides, but though my eyes could see well in the dark and over distances, they could not see through trees. We had to trust that Loghain was ready and waiting for our signal. </p><p>      Steadily the gap closed, until the first of the darkspawn were little more than half a mile from the frontlines. The mabari began to howl urgently as they caught sight of their prey and the horses danced on the edge of their charge. </p><p>      As I beheld the horde, a void filled my heart as the taint within me responded to the presence of so many of its like. </p><p>      I could feel their intent, their abhorrence of all things good and living. The depth of their bloodlust and hate was like a punch to my throat and chest. I stifled a gasp as my mind and body struggled against the onslaught of rage. </p><p>      “They’re charging!” Alistair cried suddenly. He was right, the darkspawn mass was suddenly cascading towards the frontlines. Cries from the vanguard resulted in a volley of arrows that thinned the attacking front. Another volley of arrows achieved the same, yet still the darkspawn surged on. Too close now for arrow fire, the mabari were released. The hounds harried the darkspawn, scrambling their singular attack. The king cried out triumphantly, and the cavalry charged at last as the chaos of battle and storm seized the night.</p><p>      “It’s time!”</p><p>      With the swift strike of a flint, the vat of oil swooshed alight, forcing me to shield my face from the sudden heat and light. Eagerly, I looked back over the valley, searching the trees for the flanking charge we had signaled.</p><p>      Yet though havoc roiled in the valley, the trees were still as graves.</p><p>      “Where are Loghain’s men?” I asked desperately, beginning to panic as the tugging sensation that was the taint sense at the back of my neck mounted. “Can they not see the beacon through the storm?” </p><p>      I looked back at the blazing inferno. The white marble reflected the fire brilliantly; the light would be visible for miles, storm or no.</p><p>      “This isn’t right…” Alistair said, drawing his greatsword. “Something gone wrong.”</p><p>      The mounting heaviness in my chest...the pull of the taint…</p><p>      My mind made the sudden horrifying connection as some deep instinct inside me forced me to turn, facing back to the doorway of the stairwell. </p><p>      I was not sensing the darkspawn in the valley. </p><p>      “<em> Alistair </em>!” I shouted, but he had sensed them a second before I did and was already moving. </p><p>      They poured up the stairs, bearing rusted swords and spiked clubs. I was aware of white blank eyes set into cadaverous faces, and rotten mouths that gaped impossibly wide. One fell with the first swing of Alistair’s sword, as did another with nearly every swing after that. </p><p>      I loosed arrow after arrow, seeking the gaps in their armor, but I couldn’t let any bolt fly without risking hitting Alistair. One after another they poured through the door. And sooner or later, Alistair or I would make a mistake.</p><p>      “We have to barricade the entry way or they overrun us!” I shouted.</p><p>      “Do it!” he cried as he shoved one of the abominations over the edge of the landing. “I’ll cover for you!” </p><p>      I slung my bow onto my back and bolted for the door. Alistair gave a piercing taunt, drawing the attention of the enemies away from me beside the egress. I seized the handle and threw my weight to swing it closed, crashing with a satisfying crunch as it collided with darkspawn on their way through the frame. I dropped the latch, as I pressed my entire body against the wood, feeling the clamor of swords and bodies pummeling from the other side. I ducked out of the way just in time for Alistair to drop the thick wooden beam into the ties, barring the entry. </p><p>      The door was new-made, reinforced with steel lattice, but it would not hold forever, and we both knew it. </p><p>      “The fortress is overrun. How did they get through our defenses?” Alistair wondered aloud through winded breath.</p><p>      “Weren’t you just complaining you wouldn’t get to fight?”</p><p>      He smiled ruefully. “Heh...you’re right, I guess there is a silver lining after all.”</p><p>      “Maybe they’re all confused,” I suggested. “Maybe they forgot the battle was in the valley.”</p><p>      “Yes, I’m sure this is all just a misunderstanding…we’ll laugh about this later!”</p><p>      The tower shuddered beneath our feet.</p><p>      “...That wasn’t the thunder,” I said unnecessarily. </p><p>      The tower rumbled again, and mysteriously the clamor at the door seemed to die away. Alistair peered cautiously over the edge of the landing, only to retreat back, all color drained from his face.</p><p>      “Lovely,” he said in a clipped tone. </p><p>      “What?!”</p><p>      Alistair adjusted his grip on his sword. “They have an ogre.” </p><p>      The tower shook as a grizzled hand appeared from below, grasping the edge of the landing. This was followed by a head crowned with twisted horns, a thick grey-skinned body, and finally pillar-like legs. Black, oozing slashes across its body evidenced the number of swords that had tried in vain to slay it. The gashes they left were but paper cuts to the monster. Drawing itself to full height, its horns brushed against the fifteen-foot ceiling.</p><p>      Alistair and I moved cautiously, putting the still-blazing beacon between us and the creature. Small beady eyes peered out from folds of encrusted flesh, and found us. It let out a roar that seemed to rent the air itself, revealing an impressive array of sharp bloodied teeth.</p><p>      Suddenly it jumped—through the flames, over the vat. I dived in the opposite direction Alistair did. The ogre, now between the two of us, roared once more and charged after me, the closer target. </p><p>      It ran head-down, intending to pin me with its horns, but in doing so, it lost its line of sight. I jumped, narrowly avoiding the attack and rolled off its back as it collided with one of the columns, the impact cracking the marble. The ogre, unfazed, drew itself up once more.</p><p>      Alistair let loose another taunt and the monster’s head snapped towards him. </p><p>      “Come on, then!”</p><p>      Alistair and the ogre danced in lethal synchrony.</p><p>      Bow once more in hand, I desperately released arrows that, one after another, fell against the monster’s hide like toothpicks. And then I was out. Staring at the traitorous empty quiver, panic consumed me at last. </p><p>      Through the flames of the beacon, I watched, paralyzed, as Alistair danced away from the creature’s groping vice-like hands as he looked for an opening. He wouldn’t get one. The monster was too big, its hide too thick. I could see my friend beginning to tire.</p><p>      A clatter at my feet as I took a step back made me look down. Fist-sized pieces of marble, broken loose from the column after the ogre’s charge, littered the ground. </p><p>      My hand shot down to grab one of the rocks as the other pulled the slingshot out of my belt. The rock barely fit in the leather pocket but I didn’t have time to concern myself with that. I began to swing the rope in a heavy figure-eight as I ran around the beacon, bringing myself to the same side as Alistair, facing the ogre.</p><p>      When the momentum was there, I released the projectile. It whistled through the air and struck the creature directly between the eyes with a dull <em> thwap </em>.</p><p>      The ogre staggered, momentarily stunned. A moment was all Alistair needed. He made a running leap between the ogre’s flailing arms, his whole body arching mid-air as he brought the greatsword up, two-handed, over his head. The blade plunged hilt-deep into the monster’s chest. Both feet planted against the ogre, Alistair pushed off, pulling the sword loose with a gush of putrid blood. As he did, the muddled ogre reeled one step back.</p><p>      Its leg caught the edge of the vat and it fell bodily into the beacon, sending out a wave of flaming oil.</p><p>      The monster screamed and flailed in the bowl as the fire consumed it. Eventually, it stilled. </p><p>      I hastily patted out spots of fire that had splattered on my brigandine. A moment later I became aware of a crash at the door. The darkspawn had broken through at last—the ogre couldn’t have had the courtesy of falling in front of the barricade? </p><p>      Alistair, his back to the door, was caught off guard. A skeletal arm snaked around his neck.</p><p>      I didn’t have time to load another sling. With thinking, I whipped Fang out of its scabbard, in the same motion sending it arching through the air. I blinked, and the dar’misaan was buried in the darkspawn’s skull, inches from Alistair’s own.</p><p>      He watched, wide-eyed as the creature fell away from him. I ran up to pull the dagger free.</p><p>      “You <em> did </em> mean to hit <em> it </em>, didn’t you?”</p><p>      My reply was cut off as Alistair staggered with a cry of pain. Unnoticed by either of us, another darkspawn had come up and slid its blade between the shoulder joint of Alistair’s armor. He whipped his own sword around and cleaved the assailant asunder. Three more were still coming.</p><p>      “Get out of here!” he shouted at me.</p><p>      How? I wanted to ask. There was only one way out and that was choked with darkspawn. Unless I jumped out the tower… </p><p>      For a fleeting moment I considered it. Perhaps it was a better fate than being torn apart by the abominations.</p><p>      I turned back to Alistair. The blood soaked through his armor, turning the azure to black, and the silver to fiery crimson. I gripped dar’misaan and sword in either hand and planted myself between him and the coming darkspawn.</p><p>      “I won’t leave you!”</p><p>      And I plunged into the timeless void of battle. I parried strike after strike, no thoughts beyond answering each movement, lacking any greater plan except to survive one second to the next. Alistair and I fought back to back; I could hear his gasping breaths as he fought through the pain of his injury.</p><p>      The fatigue was creeping up on me, too, as the tainted well of constitution in me began to run dry. </p><p>      The darkspawn were fewer now, no more were coming up the landing. But I was moving sluggish. I was late to block the arc of a rusted axe. It sliced into my side, knocking the wind out of me as it broke through the brigandine plates. I brought Fang in a wide desperate flail, and when it completed its trajectory, the axe-wielding darkspawn’s head was released from its body.  Twisted arrow heads buried themselves in my legs before Alistair cut the archer down.</p><p>      Black spots began to creep along the edges of my vision, and the world seemed to tilt. I had lost sight of Alistair. All was still...the barrage of attacks stopped. We had defeated the last of the invaders. We had won...and it didn’t matter. </p><p>      And then, so quietly I almost had time to wonder at the quiet, I slipped out of all consciousness.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>       Lighting cracks the sky. To the west, a knight commander watches the valley below, the army at his back. He sees the orange beacon flame atop the tower, yet for a moment he does nothing. The throws of mayhem grip the valley. Turning to his second he intones an order. Confusion crosses her face. A question. The knight commander barks his order once more, brooking no objection. With tight lips, the second turns towards the army at her back and relays the commander’s order. The soldiers obey immediately. The army turns away from the valley, retreating into the darkness. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>       In the valley below, chaos reigns. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>       The king rallies the soldiers. Like a hero from legends, golden hair and golden armor gleam in the rain. Such brightness must surely repel the darkspawn by its mere existence. But the dark menace swarms, and in the heat of battle, he has ridden too far from his allies. His white horse, awash in red, falls screaming. The golden king stands and slashes at the enemies. He does not see the ogre that charges from behind. A gnarled hand seizes him bodily, lifting the king from the ground. All his gold armor and jewels are nothing to the ogre. His body is crushed in the creature’s giant fist. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>       The crumbled mess of metal and flesh, is tossed aside, falling shapelessly near the warden commander.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>       He pauses, and hears the song calling to him as he looks over the red-washed gold that is all that is left of the monarch. He has seen many kinds of death. Victory demands a heavy price. And it must be paid in advance. But death is not the asking price—it is the song.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>       The warden commander runs headlong toward the giant, which roars in deadly defiance. The warden commander does not strike the front. Instead, he tucks and slides between the monster’s pillar legs. His greatsword slashes left, and right, severing the taunt calcaneal tendons. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>       Its feet, now untethered, slip out, and the creature falls. The warden commander wastes no time. He pins the ogre’s head to the earth with his sword. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>       All around him soldiers fall. And the army does not come. He is injured, but does not remember how. The warden commander looks up and sees the beacon aflame, hopeless and indifferent, black smoke billowing into the night. And the army does not come. And as that realization sets in, a rusted blade hits its mark, deep in his chest. The song calls in his hollow heart, and all that he is becomes nothing at all. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>       In the tower, the beacon burns on. A different ogre’s body is rendered to dust. Splatters of fire wink like stars around the landing. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>       An elf warden lies still; her blood mixes with that of the slain darkspawn, black and vermillion swirling in deceitfully peaceful eddies. Her companion drags himself across the floor, desperate to reach her. He cradles her face, searching for a spark of life left. His own spark is fading. She does not move. He falls across her body, protecting it with his own, knowing it will not matter soon. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>       A shadow falls over the tower. The beacon shudders as wings stir the air, then settle.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>       Hesitation. A decision is made.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>       he wings take flight again and the shadow melds into the night, carrying some small burden in black talons. </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Asunder</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Somewhere in the dark, I had the sensation of flying. Pain pierced my body, but sometimes it seemed like only a memory. Far below, the mountains rolled passed as the wind ripped around me, and my lungs seared with each airless breath. The vision faded into another, this one populated by corrupted creatures calling to each other in black speech. They called to me, too, and sometimes I could understand…they were calling me home. I watched, sometimes out of my own eyes, sometimes through a disembodied lens, while they tied me down and violated and defiled me. Chaos and terror grasped me so completely that I lost all sense of who I was. Time was passing but I was not sure if I was passing with it.</p><p>      So quietly I didn’t notice, the chaos became nothing at all. My mind returned to me and I was in a pool of nothing, without time, without feeling. I could stay here, if I chose. It would be pleasant even, if ‘pleasant’ had existed in that void. The absence of pain was not pleasure…it was just nothing. And still it was tempting.</p><p>      But there was something half-remembered that awaited me beyond nihility, something I had to find again.</p><p>      I reached out, looking for the door that I knew would make me awake again. I laid my hands against the darkness and heaved. As it gave way, my head broke through the surface.</p><p>      With bleary eyes I blinked against a warm light that manifested into the shape of a claustrophobic room. A small rounded window with yellowed glass glowed mutely from its set in the left hand wall, but it was difficult to estimate the time of day. Long rows of shelves comprised the wall on either side of the window, upon which a stunning collection of books were arrayed. Several clear jars with suspicious contents, along with skulls, feathers, and skins of infinite variety occupied the gaps between groups of volumes.</p><p>      The room was also outfitted with a long table taken up by a fascinating display of objects and sheaves of mouse-nibbled paper. Herbs and flowers in various stages of drying hung from the rafters, giving off thick earthy aromas. Opposite the shelves, a stone hearth hosted a pleasant fire and a stout black cauldron, from which the hearty scent of its contents wafted.</p><p>      There was a certain coziness here that could only be achieved through long years of inhabitation. It was an atmosphere so unlike the rooms of Ostagar, where the stone emanated the lingering sense of ancient abandonment. The damp smell of swamp that permeated through the little hut, was the final clue that I was presently taking refuge in a swamp wilder’s abode.</p><p>      I spun my mind backwards like the cast of a reel, hoping to snag a missing thread that would tell me how I came to be here. There was only the abyssal plain of nightmares to be found. Carefully I crept around the edge of that chasm. There had to be something before the dreams…surely I wasn’t composed only of horrors?</p><p>      The events on top of the tower came back to me like a crashing tide. My hand went instinctively to my belly, encountering only a neat arrangement of bandages under a tunic, rather than the head of an axe. I wondered if I was beginning to develop a bad habit of waking up in strange beds recovering from life-threatening injuries.</p><p>      A shadow moved out of the corner of my eye, startling me before my mind caught up to what my eyes had perceived. A figure had been crouched in front of the fire, so still that I had not seen her until my own movement prompted her to stand. Familiar yellow eyes regarded me with interest.</p><p>      “Finally, you return to us, Mother shall be pleased,” the tall woman purred.</p><p>      “Morrigan,” I said, more to remind myself that I knew her.</p><p>      The woman crossed her arms and cocked her head. “You remember me, how touching. Yes, I am Morrigan, and you are Sarabi, and we are in the wilds.” This much I had already pieced together.</p><p>      “What day is it?”</p><p>      “It is the fifth day of Moriolis.”</p><p>      “The <em> fifth </em> day?” I exclaimed. “I’ve been asleep for five <em> days </em>?”</p><p>      “You have been in a trance,” she replied levelly. “Your wounds were severe—nothing Mother could not handle of course, but even she cannot command a healing sleep to hasten. She rescued you from atop the tower, though ‘twas a close call.”</p><p>      “The tower of Ishal…what happened? What about the rest of the legion?” By all accounts we should not have been able to escape, with or without the help of a witch.</p><p>      She did not answer immediately. Instead she pulled a well-worn chair from under the long table and sat upon it. For a moment, I forgot my urgency, struck by her grace. I half expected her to phase through the chair. But it supported her like any other object of this dimension.</p><p>      “I see you will demand all the answers right out,” she sighed, soothing an errant feather in her shoulder cuff. “Though I suppose ‘tis warranted. I was not there, so I cannot say for certain, but it seems your Grey Wardens were overrun by darkspawn. Very foolish, to draw the horde into the valley when your numbers are so few and they are so many. I had always thought Grey Wardens were clever and brave, but perhaps I must rethink my impression.”</p><p>      I leaned my head back, closing my eyes. “Loghain was supposed to flank the horde,” I said in a small voice. “We lit the signal so he would know when to tell his men to charge,” I explained in a dull voice, surprised by my own calmness. I realized that I had known about the outcome of the battle all along, even in the dreams. It had been over from the moment we ignited the beacon.</p><p>      “It seems he was either overrun himself, or quit the field. But they are all dead. You would not want to see the valley now.” She seemed bored with this news.</p><p>      I started suddenly as a cold dread seized me. “Alistair…is Alistair alright?”</p><p>      “If you are inquiring about his physical state, of that I can assure you he is quite well. He had injuries, just as you did, but ‘twas nothing Mother could not fix. As for his mental faculties, I really cannot say. He has wildly veered between denial, anger, and despondency.”</p><p>      “He already knows?”</p><p>      Morrigan nodded, watching me carefully. “He woke from his slumber yesterday and has been inconsolable ever since. He demanded to see you and drew a blade when I explained you should not be disturbed.” She made a face like sour prunes. “Not that he could have hurt me even if he wanted to, but still...the <em> audacity </em>. Perhaps it would be cruel to say he is being childish, but that would not make it less true.”</p><p>      “Where is he?” I asked urgently.</p><p>      “Outside by the fire.”</p><p>      I leapt up, feeling strangely lithe for having several arrows stuck in me recently. I made for the door of the little house, but paused with my hand at the latch and turned back to the other woman.</p><p>      “Morrigan, thank you.”</p><p>      She blinked, taken off guard. “I did nothing. Mother did all the work, I am no healer.”</p><p>      “Just the same…thank you.”</p><p>      I rushed outside, where a yellow sky hung low over the bog. Morrigan’s mother tended a little fire in the homely manner of old women. She did not look up as I appeared out of the hut, and continued to diligently monitor the flatbreads she was cooking over the open flame. Several goats and chickens milled around the cottage, juxtaposing my harried dread with a display of quaint domesticity.</p><p>      But my fears evaporated as my eyes fell upon Alistair. His back was to me, as he looked out over the reeds some twenty feet from the house.</p><p>      Alistair turned when he heard the door open, his eyes full of a distracted worrying that seemed to pull him many different directions. As he perceived me standing there, all other thoughts seemed to leave him and he ran to me. His long legs covered the distance in just a few strides and he embraced me in a vice grip.</p><p>      “You’re…you’re alive,” he said.</p><p>      “Ow,” I breathed, feeling my ribs creaking.</p><p>      He quickly dropped his arms and stood back, looking abashed. “Morrigan said you were alright, but I couldn’t…I thought you were dead for sure.”</p><p>      “I am alright,” I reassured him. “Good as new, in fact.”</p><p>      The relief on his face cracked and grief was raw beneath. “Duncan’s dead. The Grey Wardens, even the king. They’re all dead.”</p><p>      I clasped his shoulder feebly. “I know. Morrigan told me everything—” I cut myself off when I realized there was still an important mystery to be addressed.</p><p>      “Who are you?” I demanded, turning back to Morrigan’s mother. “No more tricks and word games. How did you get past all the darkspawn and save us from the tower?”</p><p>      “Does it matter?” she replied in her gravelly voice. Behind her, Morrigan emerged from the cottage. The pair of them, so unalike in appearance, mirrored each other as they each crossed their arms under their chest. “Is it not enough that you are alive?”</p><p>      “Do not believe we are ungrateful for your aid. But all of our friends are dead and I can think of no reason why we should not have died with them. How can we know we can trust you when we don’t even know your name?”</p><p>      “Hmm,” Morrigan’s mother made a low rumbling sound in her throat. “Such insistence.”</p><p>      She drew herself up, suddenly growing taller by a foot or more. Her drab attire melted away, replaced by a studded red leather corset that plunged to her sternum  and a high collar that elongated her neck. Black feathers fanned out over her shoulders, and her arms and legs were sheathed all in steel. Her form was no longer skeletal, but full figured; her once papery skin appeared now carved of marble. She was old still, but ‘frail’ was the last word I would use. Her hair flowed out long and white, and from the crown of her head sprouted curving red and white horns. A circlet of spired iron appeared about her temples, and her once dull eyes became a piercing yellow.</p><p>      I barely had time to register all of these changes when she shifted form again. Red leathery winged flared out from her shoulder blades and she became a horned dragon, twenty feet tall and wingspan three times that. It was different than the dragon of my tainted nightmares, but no less terrifying. It let loose a terrible roar that shook the ground.</p><p>      Alistair seized me and pulled me back, but the next instant the dragon was gone, having assumed the second form of Morrigan’s mother once more.</p><p>      I heard Morrigan sigh. “And you claim I have a penchant for the dramatic, mother dear.”</p><p>      Alistair was first to recover himself enough to speak.</p><p>      “<em> Who are you </em>?” he spluttered.</p><p>      When she spoke, her voice was deep and resonant. “Hmm…I am the fly in the ointment. I am a whisper in the dark. I am the pebble in the shoe, and the shadow at the edge of twilight. I am also an old, old woman. But you…may call me Flemeth.”</p><p>      Flemeth? That name was familiar…in my mind it conjured flashes of half-forgotten stories, like unseen glimpses of a land of which I had only dreamed.</p><p>      “A-and you rescued us by…”</p><p>      “I merely flew up and plucked you both from atop the tower.”</p><p>      “I would have rescued your king,” Morrigan put in. “A king would fetch a much handsomer ransom.”</p><p>      Alistair’s eyes flashed towards the younger woman, his astonishment momentarily overcome by ire.</p><p>      “Why didn’t you then? Why save us at all?” He turned to Flemeth, accusing. “Why didn’t you save the others?”</p><p>      Flemeth regarded him with icy calmness. “Perhaps I would have, had I not arrived long after your fellow Wardens were already slain.”</p><p>      She slowly strolled past us, now scowling out over the wilderness, as though she could see some ill-boding beyond the veiled horizon. Then she turned once more to Alistair and I.</p><p>      “But do not disregard your own lives so hastily. I believe the two of you will have a part yet to play in this. Come inside, all of you. And there we can discuss all of this in more comfort. Supper is ready, and plans are better laid with a full stomach.”</p><p>      Inside, it was even harder not to stare open-mouthed at the newly revealed witch, Flemeth. In this form, she looked like she better belonged in a spired palace with black parapets, not a mire cottage. Yet though she, like her daughter, moved like an ether, Flemeth performed the mundane tasks of putting supper on the table just the same as an ordinary hostess. Having half-expected her to magic everything into place, I was unsure if it was unnerving or reassuring to watch her go about it the old-fashioned way.</p><p>      I caught Alistair staring too and knew he must be thinking the same.</p><p>      “Apostates we may be,” Morrigan said, having guessed our thoughts, “but we’re still people just the same.”</p><p>      Abashed, Alistair and I took up places at a long table near the hearth, delicately shifting reams of paper and various other objects to make room for ourselves.</p><p>      Morrigan handed me a bowl of venison stew, which I proceeded to eat with unrestrained vigor. Though the healing trance would have suspended the usual physical callings of my living body, like the need to eat, my stomach had nonetheless lain empty for five days. Now that I was awake again, hunger returned with a vengeance.</p><p>      I caught Alistair eyeing his portion surreptitiously, as though suspecting the witches had included some magical concoction in the brew. In the end, hunger won over distrust and he ate it all just the same.</p><p>      “Now then,” Flemeth said when everyone had finished. “What do you plan to do?”</p><p>      “We have to tell people what happened here,” Alistair said. “People have to know that the Blight has not been defeated, and now nothing stands in the way of the horde and the rest of the realm.”</p><p>      I thought of the broiling mass of darkspawn we had witnessed atop the tower, and shuddered to imagine how it would now spread unimpeded through the countryside. This notion was then abruptly juxtaposed in my mind, with the picturesque scene outside this very hut.</p><p>      “How was this place not overrun?” I asked with sudden suspicion. “Refugees have been pouring out of the wilds for weeks…and yet here you both are, and no one would know there’s a blight raging outside your doorstep.”</p><p>      Morrigan answered. “We are safe, for the moment. The horde is regrouping deep in the wilds, and it will be some time before the archdemon is able to drive them forward again. In the meantime, Mother has weaved wards and protections from darkspawn around this place. They will not bother us here, but with Ostagar no longer manned, it will not be long before the darkspawn pour through the pass.”</p><p>      I looked between the two witches; I could only imagine the power the two of them together could wield. “You must help us stop that from happening.”</p><p>      Flemeth gave a deep gravelly laugh. “You expect me to call lightning down from the sky and smite the entire horde where they stand? Ha! If only I could command such forces. My magics run deep, but I am still no more than a swamp witch. But you are Grey Wardens. You are already equipped with everything you need to seek your vengeance.”</p><p>      Vengeance...the word echoed in my mind and suddenly I remembered from where I knew her—at least of her.</p><p>      “I think we both know you are much more than a simple swamp witch…Asha’bellanar.”</p><p>      For a moment she met my eyes with a shocking keenness. I refused to yield or blink, and I had once more the unnerving feeling of being stripped down to the soul and examined. Finally, she smiled.</p><p>      “Then you <em> do </em> know me,” she said, pleased. “I was beginning to think those vallaslin were just for show. But perhaps you do know the lore of your own people.”</p><p>      “Less than I would like,” I admitted in a tight voice.</p><p>      Alistair held up an interjecting hand across the table. “Wait, then who are you?”</p><p>      “She’s the Mother of Vengeance,” I explained calmly, still holding my eyes with her’s. “Her Dalish name means <em> Woman of Many Years. </em> The story goes that a demon gave her the power to exact her revenge on those who betrayed her, and now supplicants come to her for the same.” I narrowed my eyes and addressed the witch once more. “But they say you are as likely to murder those who approach you, as help them.”</p><p>      Out of the corner of my eye I saw Alistair balk, making to reach for the weapon he did not have.</p><p>      “You’re profane!” Alistair exclaimed, knocking his chair back as he launched to his feet.</p><p>      Flemeth scoffed, unperturbed by his commotion. “Such a cruel word. Demons, you see, are so unfairly maligned.” She broke her eyes’ hold on me to allow her gaze to roam between Alistair and I. “It is not only pride and wrath and greed that you will find in the Fade. You will also find love, justice, valor...And as you well know, even vengeance can be sought in good intentions. You have nothing to fear from me, young wardens, despite what your Chantry might tell you. But when you’ve lived for as long as I have,  you get up to many things, and they spin all kinds of ludicrous tales.”</p><p>      “Like the <em> murder </em>?” Alistair demanded.</p><p>      She smiled at him but refrained to answer. He shuddered.</p><p>      “Well, that’s very comforting.” He righted the fallen chair and took his seat once more, relaxing enough to have recovered his customary sarcasm. Morrigan, evidently bored with the conversation, rose and sauntered towards the bookshelves opposite the hearth and selected a volume written in a runic alphabet and began to peruse the pages. Alistair kept a wary eye on her.</p><p>      “Comfort has nothing to do with it,” Flemeth replied. “Nor does power. No person alone has the power to stand against the Blight, not even I. Considering what the world has done to me, I have already done my fair share—because this Blight threatens my existence as well. Yet it is a threat which is too great for any but the Grey Wardens to defeat.”</p><p>      “It was too great even for them,” I said, resting my face in my hands as a dark weight settled on me.  </p><p>      “What are you saying?” Alistair asked, taken aback by my defeated tone. “We have to keep fighting! I’ve lost everyone, don’t back out on me now.”</p><p>      I looked up, seeing the hurt and desperation plain on his face.</p><p>      “I didn’t say that,” I replied gently. “But we have to face facts. The Wardens, who, according to everyone, are the only thing strong enough to fight the Blight, are obliterated. That we survived is barely worth mentioning when there’s still a horde thousands strong left. And if Flemeth can’t help us, then what would you have us do?”</p><p>      Alistair shoved away from the table and rose to his feet once more; this time he shook with anger.</p><p>      “We have to find Loghain.” He intoned the name like a curse. “We have to make him answer for what he’s done. He was supposed to charge when we lit the beacon, but he never came. Why would he do this? He knew that King Cailan was in the vanguard. Why would he abandon him?”</p><p>      Flemeth spoke, “Men’s hearts hold shadows darker than any tainted creature. Perhaps he believes the Blight is an army he can out-maneuver, perhaps he does not see the true danger.”</p><p>      I nodded thoughtfully. “Even a blind rat could see that Loghain had little love for the king. With Cailan out of the picture, and no heir to speak of, perhaps he believes this is how he may gather power.” The nobility would betray even their own kin if it would benefit themselves.</p><p>      Alistair shook his head in frustration and he paced in front of the hearth. “But he can’t take control without the consent of the Landsmeet, and surely the greater houses would argue that the throne should fall to Arl Eamon—he was Maric’s brother and Cailan’s uncle.”</p><p>      A soft thump, as Morrigan shut the book she had been reading, made both Alistair and I start.</p><p>      “I am rather inclined to believe that a man who would abandon his own king wouldn’t wait for someone to give him <em> permission </em>,” she said, replacing the volume on the shelf. “’Twould seem more likely he would use the Blight as an excuse to seize emergency powers.”</p><p>      “I don’t think he even believes this is a Blight,” I replied.</p><p>      Morrigan scoffed. “Well that will certainly be a comfort when the darkspawn come knocking at his door.”</p><p>      “But until then,” I said, “…no one would have survived the battle to say what really happened.”</p><p>      “We survived.” Alistair said defiantly, balling his hand into a fist. “He won’t get away with this.”</p><p>      “I think he already has, Alistair. We’re all that’s left. What can two do against a man with the power of the Fereldan army at his back? And even if we did stand against him, there’s still the horde to consider.”</p><p>      Flemeth made a derisive sound. “It has always been the Grey Wardens’ duties to unite the lands against the Blight. Or did that change when I wasn’t looking?”</p><p>      “What would you have us do?” I asked desperately.</p><p>      “What I <em> want </em> you to do is what you were <em> meant </em> to do. If you think small numbers make you helpless, you are already defeated. Did not Andraste rally the people and march against the Tevinter Imperium? And she was but one. You are two.”</p><p>      “She had an army at her back,” I reminded the witch.</p><p>      She raised an eyebrow. “And have the Wardens no allies these days?”</p><p>      Alistair leaned against the table on both hands in thought. “Duncan said the Grey Wardens of Orlais had been called, and Arl Eamon would surely never stand for this, if he knew. But Loghain never wanted the Orlesians’ aid to begin with and would have wasted no time in telling Eamon and the Orlesians that the threat is dealt with. By now, they all would be well on their way home. But if we could get word to Eamon…”</p><p>      “How can you be sure he is not on Loghain’s side?” I asked skeptically.</p><p>      “He isn’t…just trust me.” Alistair replied, but he refused to meet my eyes.</p><p>      I decided to let that one go for the time being. “What about the Orlesians?”</p><p>      Alistair shook his head regretfully. “Orlais is a thousand miles from here. At the rate the horde is growing, we’d never be able to make it back here in time to stop the Blight.”</p><p>      Silence lay steadily in the little room; the witches watched Alistair and I as we watched each other, pretending not to notice. </p><p>      “Is there no one else?” I finally said.</p><p>      “Need I remind you, Wardens, of what brought you to venture into the wilds in the first place, what object led you to my house?”</p><p>      Alistair and I looked at each other, our eyes alighting in twin pairs of understanding.</p><p>      “The treaties!” we said together, and my hand went reflexively to my tunic, to the inner pocket in which I had stashed the papers. Duncan had told me to keep them safe before the siege began. </p><p>      I pulled the scroll out reverently. It was still sealed, and none the worse for having been through a battle. </p><p>      I opened the seal on the documents. The pages were pristine, like the paper had been made only yesterday, no signs that they had spent years at least in the damp swamp. The letters were written in a small, precise hand. Though it was written in Alamarri, the common speech of Ferelden, the wording was archaic and I struggled to interpret the meaning behind the sprawling opening sentences.</p><p>      Alistair cleared his throat mildly. “If you can’t...that is...do you want me to take a look?” he asked, half-reaching for the page.</p><p>      I leveled him with a caustic stare. “I <em> can </em> read, Alistair. I grew up poor, not stupid.”</p><p>      “Right…sorry,” he said, mollified, withdrawing his hand.</p><p>      “The Warden’s best and brightest, hmm, Mother?” Morrigan purred.</p><p>      I ignored her, scanning the words before me. One thing that was clear, was the date on the documents.</p><p>      “These were signed in Year Twenty-five of the Exalted Age.” In my head I quickly counted back the ages. “That’s four hundred years ago.”</p><p>      “The end of the last Blight,” Alistair specified. “The last Blight nearly tore the world apart. The griffons were obliterated, nations reeled for decades. The Grey Wardens knew that the next Blight might prove too much for us.”</p><p>      “Duncan said that the Grey Wardens signed these treaties with every major faction in every nation, compelling them to call to arms. Something so important, what was it doing in a swamp?”</p><p>      “The scrolls were probably little more than formality at the time. Likely they had been kept at the Grey Warden conclave in Vigil’s Keep. But the Fereldan nobility cleaned that place out when the Wardens were expelled. My only guess is someone was quick-thinking enough to save the documents before they were destroyed, and hid them in the outpost for safekeeping.”</p><p>      There were holes in this line of logic, but it mattered less how the treaties had come into our hands than how we would use them now that they had. As I read on, the document revealed there were three major signatories: Orzammar, the Dalish, and the Circle of Magi. </p><p>      “Not the royal army?” I asked.</p><p>      “No…” Alistair said tightly. “Perhaps they had no reason to think the nation’s army would stand aside while a Blight was on the horizon.”</p><p>      I went back to studying the archaic papers, pondering their power. “These treaties are almost four hundred years old, I doubt any of the signatories would remember these exist,” I said reasonably. “It may be difficult to convince them to lend their assistance with these alone.”</p><p>      “We are Grey Wardens. In some places that still means something. If we ask for help they will give it.”</p><p>      I rolled the scrolls up once more, returning them to their keeping place in my tunic. </p><p>      “I hope you’re right,” was all I could say. Until the moment I saw the Blight myself, the true gravity of it had escaped me. It was clear to me now that my time as a Grey Warden would not be a minor stepping stone on my path. It may be all I ever had again. I had nearly died once already, and the odds of my mortality did not seem to be improving. The quest was impossible. How could two people alone move a nation?</p><p>      “Do you really think we can do this? Raise an army?” I asked Alistair, unable to hide my worry.</p><p>      He smiled reassuringly. The doubt was hidden well behind his eyes. “I think we can.”</p><p>      “The path is laid before you, Wardens,” Flemeth said with profundity. “You have allies in wait, you need only command them.”</p><p>      I looked to the window and saw the light was substantially dimmed. Dark would be falling soon.</p><p>      “We should leave now; we have a long journey ahead of us, and I’d like to get out of the wilds before nightfall.” I addressed Flemeth. “Anything you can spare us, we could use.”</p><p>      “I have very little that would be of use to you. There is a village not far from here which will have any provisions you may require. Otherwise, I have but one more thing to offer.” She shifted her ancient eyes to her daughter, who stood leaning against a pile of books, impassively following the conversation. A beat passed, and Morrigan jolted straight, having realized what her mother had said.</p><p>      “Wha—<em> me </em>?!”</p><p>      “You heard me, girl. The last time I checked you had ears. Ha!” Flemeth turned back to Alistair and I. “She knows the wilds and will help you get past the horde, beyond that, her magics may prove useful to your quest.”</p><p>      “Have <em> I </em> no say in this?” Morrigan cried.</p><p>      “You have been itching to get out of the wilds for years. Here is your chance.”</p><p>      Alistair held up an interjectory hand. “Not to look a gift horse in the mouth…but won’t this add to our problems? She’s an apostate. That means if the Templars ever catch wind of her…”</p><p>      The yellow ire of Morrigan’s eyes latched onto Alistair. “I have not survived until now without knowing how to shake the odd Templar,” she spat.</p><p>      “If you do not wish help from us illegal mages, perhaps I should put you back on that tower,” Flemeth said thoughtfully.</p><p>      Alistair leaned back, thoroughly chastised by this episode. “Point...taken.”</p><p>      Despite her own claims of adventurous proficiency, Morrigan took up her protestations once more. “Mother…this is not how I wanted this. I’m not ready!”</p><p>      “You must be ready, daughter. These two need you. If they fail, all shall perish under the Blight. Even I.”</p><p>      Morrigan’s mouth worked, trying out the shapes of words that failed her. “I…understand.”</p><p>      “And do you, Wardens?” Flemeth turned the weight of her aura on us. “Do you understand? I give you what I value above all else, because you <em> must </em> succeed.”</p><p>      I thought over the proposition. I was unsure how far I could trust a witch of the wilds. Yet...there were advantages to having a mage on our side. “She’s welcome with us. We can use all the help we can get.”</p><p>      “The Grey Wardens will always take allies where they can find them,” Alistair agreed meekly.</p><p>      “I am so pleased to have your approval,” Morrigan remarked acerbically.</p><p>      It took little time to gather what we needed.  I examined my weapons, laid courteously safe in their scabbards next to my sick bed. The arming sword was in decent shape, if a bit banged up. The dar’misaan glowed pale gold in the firelight, proudly bereft of fault, nor trace of blood. My empty quiver—I would have to craft or barter more arrows as soon a possible—lay alongside the unstrung bow. I ran my hands over the curving wood, searching for fissures that would break if I tried to draw it. Determining it was sound I headed outside, where Alistair, already armed once more with his greatsword, was packing supplies into our bags.</p><p>      “If Flemeth can turn into a dragon, the least she could do is give us a ride,” Alistair muttered, settling one of the provisions bags onto his back.</p><p>      Morrigan spoke over his shoulder, making him jump. “Oh yes, a dragon flying freely over the skies of Ferelden. That certainly wouldn’t cause a scene at all.”</p><p>      Alistair glared after the woman as she walked away. “She better not do that the whole trip.”</p><p>      Flemeth stood before the little hut, observing our preparatory activities with serene regard. </p><p>      “Farewell, mother,” Morrigan sighed in a tone akin to boredom, as she slung up her bag. “Don’t forget the stew on the fire. I should hate to return to a burned-down hut.”</p><p>      “It is far more likely, child, that you will return to see this entire place, along with my hut, swallowed by the Blight.”</p><p>      Morrigan’s face went even paler. “I...a-all I meant was…”</p><p>      “Yes, I know.” Flemeth hitched the pack more securely upon her daughter’s shoulder. “Do try to have fun, dear.”</p><p>     <span>As we set out, Morrigan leading, Alistair seemingly trying to keep as many paces between himself and the witch as possible, and I between them both, we faced the horizon where the red sky faded yellow, almost to blue—a tenuous suggestion of a world yet untouched by the Blight. I wondered how long it would last. I had almost forgotten what it was to exist under an uncorroded sky. And there were miles to go yet.</span></p><p>
  <span>      This time, as we left the glade of Flemeth’s abode, I did not look back. I knew it wouldn’t be there.</span>
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  <span>      The warm wind sighed. Just a shiver through the reeds. </span>
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  <span>      It sounded like a song.</span>
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